The ticking of the clock is ringing in her ears, and as much as
she tries to shout it out and send it fleeing, the metronome
marches on. Young hands so very much alive and new tremble
slightly as she shifts her position on the tired old couch. Her
eyes meet the foreboding windowpane, the ever present reminder
that she has trapped herself inside this room and is very much
alone. Insecurities swell like a balloon, and obsession consumes
her. Why is it that she can no longer bear to be alone? The time
of year has not helped to soothe the aching wounds upon her
spirit. There seemed to always be a way of hiding. Why shouldn't
she let her whole self blossom and explode and break free from
this feeble minded worry? She rises from her resting place and
treads carefully across the room, trying to shake herself from
the thoughts now swirling like a rising wave within her skull.
She feels raw bone begin to crack as she takes her leave. The
stairs crumble beneath her now, but she glides with an elegant
and haunting grace, eyes fixated ahead, never looking back.
Alive. She feels so alive, and her life bursts through her
fingertips like the morning sun's first glow. How can she feel so
alone? They are laughing. They wrap their tarnished hands around
her limbs; misty spectors of a haunted past. The laughter rings
so loudly that she soon falls to her knees, hands pressed tightly
over aching ears.
Who is here for her now?
What will it take?
How hard it has been to feel no love. Not a single soul to touch her. Not a single life to share. Just loneliness and herself. Trapped inside lonliness and herself. She finds the strength to rise once again. Bare feet hit the cold floor, startling the slumbering boards. Just then, a bubbling flame lept wildly from her heart. It rose higly on the wind, leaping from place to place across space and time and engulfing the walls around her. In the midst of the greedy flame, the girl wept. She wept silently, and brilliant shades of gold and scarlet danced upon the teardrops racing down her tired face.
The walls they burned like paper, and her skin it did the same. And before you knew it, the girl had lost what she became. Her skeleton was beautiful, though blackened by the flames, and like the night and stars and sun, no one was left to blame.