Just Some Short Stories

Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. (fiction)

Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue.

I am put into their car. They are taking me away, somewhere, I don't really know where. You are probably wondering how I got here and why they are taking me away. To tell you the truth I don't know why I have to leave my home. I didn't do anything wrong, did I? I just wanted to get away from the pain. It isn't my fault, you know, that I am like this. It's the people at school that made me like this. Their name calling, and constant glares.

I look at myself in the rear view mirror and chuckle at my ghostly appearance, I look like Samara, you know that girl from The Ring. It is kind of funny, people don't ever expect the happy looking ones. They don't think it could ever be the girl with a smile on her face. The one thing people don't realize is that people who struggle with depression are some of the happiest looking people. We sit disguised among everyone else, like a wolf in sheep's clothing and we look totally normal, you'd never know that we struggled with anything. We have bad days and good days like everyone else. I thought about why we act this way and I what I came up with was: We know what it feels like to feel empty and alone. We know how it feels to carry the burden of the world on our shoulders, and we don't want others to feel the way we do. That is why we are very caring and nice, also because we can just be legitimately good people. Maybe that is why when one of us has scars, our bullies say it is just for attention.

I am torn away from my thoughts as the 2 men who escorted me enter into the vehicle. It stays silent as we leave the drive way of my baby blue house, it is a typical house you would find in Edmonds, my bedroom has a nice view of the water, I will miss my room and all the memories I have in it.

As we drive down the road, we stop at a light. I look to my left to see a boy, around my age of 16, looking straight at me with fear and pity. I hate pity.

Just another person who thinks you are a freak. I think to myself. I turn my head away quickly and replay the past events in my head.

*FLASH BACK*

I come home from school. Another day of relentless name calling and getting beaten. I am done with this shit. Why does everyone hate me, I didn't do anything wrong to them. I run up to my room and lock the door. I sit alone in my thoughts.

Why are you here.....if you were gone it wouldn't make a difference you know....but you can't go, you care to much about everyone, you know it would destroy them.....but then again they can get over it, right? That is what people do, get over stuff......

My head continues the argument while I lie in my bed crying.

After a few hours: I sit against the wall, my face stained with the ghosts of my thoughts, I feel emotionless. I need to feel something, anything. I get up and look in my hiding spot, there it is, my old friend, the one who brings the sense of feeling back. I take my silver companion and rake it down my scar covered arms, slowly, and savor the awareness of this feeling because I know it won't last long. I watch as the crimson liquid slowly trickles down and drips to the floor. I guess I have some cleaning to do, but I am so tired from my emotionless state that I get consumed by darkness. I am not scared of this darkness because I know it will only stay for a little while. I let the darkness hold me in its embrace as my mind drifts away to a deep slumber.