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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story of a girl with a troubled past. Let the voices in her head represent whatever your demons are.

Submitted: November 19, 2013

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Submitted: November 19, 2013



Whisps of wind blew through her hair. Her auburn hair. Long in its length, It was brighter than her soul. She deeply inhaled the cool air as she rocked herself. The river by which she resided roared a song of murmurs, and it soothed her, yet it ignited the feelings embedded deep inside her chest. Feelings birthed on that day. Her face was white, her body frail with the weight of 1000 lies pressed to her heart, which beat feverishly fast keeping up with the demands; trying to keep up with the life she lived, memories zooming by, bombarding her like cars driving towards a cliff, memories that paralyzed her each and every day as she walked alone through the halls, the streets, the roads. Everywhere she went she could not escape that feeling that everyone and everything was against her, following her, breathing their icy cold breath down her neck and into her mind each and every second of every day as they dictated every decision she had every made and ever would make. All because of that. That which swirled dark over her head, a shade, a ghoul which could tear all the happiness, even the slightest bit away, because she did not deserve a drop of pleasure ever again. Her tears were few and far between, it was as if she had used them all and they were too be gone forever, lifted away in the darkness that had become her life. People glanced her way no matter which way she went, hot whispers on their breath, dashing away as quickly as they could like frightened children clinging to the safety of their mothers. But their was no safe left for her. Not now because whenever she thought she was going to be warm, proud, happy, the voice returned and said \"Not now, now is mine. Now is my time.\" and then it plunged her back down, forcing her into a deep vault of purples and blacks and blues, all touching but never mixing together to create. Just destroy. It turned her vivid childish world into to black and white, all voices to beige monotones, words spilling out of others mouths without true meaning, just emptiness to be discarded and never though of again. When provoked, the blacks and whites swirled together, creating a red so bright it's only origins could have been from the deepest pit of hell, conjured by the voice. She stood from her spot by the river now, auburn hair whipping leftward in the wind, drops of water beginning to litter the air as the long awaited storm finally decided to emerge and play its hand. Her hands remained clenched as they had for the duration of her visit, her nails cutting wounds of scarlett into her flesh, as she tried to shove the voice back into the corner of her mind, locked in the very vault it liked so much to force her into. It cackled, not showing any intent of allowing her to do so. \"One day\", she thought, and she strolled slowly to  the road, ignoring the growing dampness of her skin against her soaked clothing. And she walked, and she did not stop until she found a field that seemed nice. In it lay thousands of pink posies, and she saw them in their colors. She lay down, and smiled, and her eyes slowly drifted shut. The storm pelted her less like shots now and more like drops of summer rain, though it had not fluctuated in its intensity. And with this, she floated off.

© Copyright 2018 LivyLee. All rights reserved.

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