It's so cold. The air outside is warm, flowing into the room from an open window by the sink, but my body feels as if it's about to freeze over. I sob quietly, letting the tears roll down my face as I stare at the open window, a reflection of the two ceiling lamps clear one second then blurring, transforming from two crafted, shapely domes into large yellow orbs of which the shape I can no longer tell. I hear the bangs from upstairs, the yelling, the mumble of harsh words I try to block from my head. It's giving me a headache. The sharp pains in my temples stop my sobbing as I feel faint from the pain; I lean forwards onto the table, resting my head against the cold marble table, the nausea overtaking me. I try to forget it all, the pain, the sadness, so I gather my strength to walk up the back staircase, stumbling on my steps, my vision unstable from crying so much, my balance faltering from the pain. Everywhere. Why am I hurting inside? Pain should be physical, from a cut, from a bruise. I long to feel physical pain, to hide my mutation, so i stub my toe, with all my strength and sadness, banging my bare foot angrily against the wall as the sounds of crashing glass against the hardwood cedar floor of my home are carried to my ears. After awhile I feel nothing at all, so I continue up the stairs to my room, walking down the long hall. The sounds come closer. I see their room; a whirlpool of broken wonders. I hear their screaming voices, imagining bloody tears falling from their distortions. Distortions that can not be called faces. Faces are meant to show the beauty of one's inner emotion. Anger is not beautiful. It is be hideous. I am filled with anger; I must be hideous. I walk to my room, seeing my brother's room, door open, and feel distaste in my mouth as I curse him for leaving me alone in this broken family, this four-leafed clover of a family that has been teared apart from within.
The cold water against my face feels good, and I listen to the running faucet as it cools my burning forehead, but my body is still shivering; I layer blankets and jackets over myself as I cuddle on my bed. My head still hurts. I want to forget this moment, get rid of this torture forever, so I plan to go into a deep slumber that I wished I would never wake from, but reality is reality and I will have to face my torture. For now I'll dream of a calm forest where I can roam as a beast, free.
Please do not take any of my work for any purpose. -Stephanie