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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ISBN# issue/book “Question Everything” cc&d, v280 (the February 2018 issue) Order this as a 6"x9" paperback book:  |
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Bullied
Emily Jade Walker
The clock ticked. A tedious steady beat... the room, otherwise, was silent. Each tick was more menacing than the last. Time: it’s an almost mute suffering. The light was dim the ‘Energy saving’ bulb was on its last few days of survival. It was old... worn down... and abused. It flickered occasionally, fighting for its life. It was a tortuous thing. The window on the right side of the room was an amusing concept. While waiting for some kind of relief you could sit there and watch the happiness in the world pass by. You are so close to touching it, to living it... but a glass wall blocks you. In one place of the window, someone tried to break this pattern of conformity and had attempted to smash the window. They failed. All that was left was a beautiful shattered pattern and their dried blood.
The floor was stripped; the wooden boards were rotten and filthy; dangerous.
In the left corner of the room was a bed, a light metal frame with a small mattress and a beaten and torn blanket covering it. Beside it was a girl. A small girl, she was curled up in a ball, her shoulders shaking, but her crying was silent. On her arm, she had words carved into her. And around her neck was a collar... attached to the collar was a chain that connected to one of the bed legs. She was thin and pale. Her hair, once golden, was now a dirty, flat, and dull blonde. She was dressed in old battered rags. The door rattles and she raises her head. Her eyes are tired and worn, but the colour of the iris... previously a bright blue was now a dismal grey. As the door continued to rattle, fear ran across her eyes. She cowered into the wall behind her, trying to scream but no sound was made.
Her attempts at escape were futile.
The rattling of the door stopped with a click before being thrown open and a shadowed formed across the floor. The shadow struck her cowering form and she felt a hand on her collar. She heard the unlocking of the padlock and then felt the collar slide down her body. The same hand grabbed her hair and hauled her to her feet. She was then pushed out the door and thrown to the floor. The door then slammed and was locked once more.
She ran. She turned away from the door and sprinted. She was free, everything had been lifted from her shoulders; she felt like she could fly. She smiled for the first time she could remember. Tears sprung to her eyes as she continued to be at liberty. She arrived at a beautiful wild flower meadow. She couldn’t believe it; she could see all of the beautiful colours of every flower: Blue; Green; Purple; Red and White. She honestly believed she hit paradise.
A cloud then covered the sky and it began to rain, all of the beautiful colours were then washed away. The wondrous bright colours were now replaced with blacks and greys. The rain soaked her clothes and hair. She collapsed in a mist of the dismal flowers and began to create a ‘flower angel’. In the process of this, she found a rusty old nail. She sat up, fascinated by this nail. The way it was bent in the middle and how the point of it was sharp to touch. Her eyes followed the tip of the nail as the world around her was forgotten. Everything had disappeared, the flowers, the rain, she became imbedded into a black space.
A small amount of time had passed and the girl was still fixated on the nail. One hand then reached up to her neck. She began to claw at it. She was confused. She scratched continuously in the hope she could find her comfort. Her mind raced, her breathing began to quicken; her body began to tremble. She closed her eyes for a moment and when they re-opened the iris had completely dilated. She was a prisoner by her own device.
The hand, which held the nail, had risen slightly and the left arm had been repositioned so it was naked towards her. She was completely focused on what she had to do. A single tear rolled down her cheek slowly as she brought the rusty nail down on the skin. She pressed hard and it slowly pierced into the already caved skin. She unrelentingly pushed the nail deeper and the pain rushed through her body unlike any other. The blood began to seep out of the freshly created wound. It ran down the side of her wrist and then dripped slowly onto the ground beneath it. It trickled to a steady beat, a menacing beat. It relapsed her. She was back in the room. She could hear the clock once more, and each tick became softer and the clock became slower. She continued her deed before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell backwards. The nail was still embedded in her left wrist, as she was motionless on the ground. She then became indulged in a bright white light. The light grew brighter and then suddenly disappeared.
She was gone.
“Sticks and stones may not break my bones, but words will always hurt me.”
