Look at me. Ratted brown hair, blood shot eyes, and a crooked smile to go with it. I sit on my bed and stare into the soul of the girl looking back at me through the mirror. I can’t seem to find anything. I look into the pain, a shattered mind, twisting and turning, trying to fight its way out of my scull; not working. A blank, vacant, destroyed mind, with no thoughts. No emotions, no strength, no activity. As i look deeper into the lost phantom I begin to see the scars. Her skin ripped open, showing insecurities, pain, and seclusion. The broken necklace around her neck, pearls rattling away across the floor, like the dreams she once had. A pulsing pain barrels throughout my body as my head jolts away from the girl in the mirror. It lashes to the side quickly, as if someone moved it for me.
As I crawl out of my sitting position to move across the darkened, mournful room, my legs give out underneath me and my body crashes to the hard floor like I am crushing down into the earth’s crust. My cheek lies on the cold floor. Lack of air, room spinning, I still feel nothing. My empty thoughts try to fight through. They’re trying to tell me to pick my head up, but my head feels like it is made out of steal, and is not moveable. I am paralyzed in my own mind.
Days go by as I lay on the bare, piercing cement floor, alone. My hair surrounds my face as the light of a new day tries to sneak its way into my clearance. Somehow it becomes distracted, leaving me hopeless and abandoned. The pictures of my past are falling around me, as if a large gust of rapid wind broke through the bars confining me to this miniscule room. One lands in my eye sight and sends an electric pulse throughout my body. It’s him. I will not think his name, I promised myself that much. I have not thought of his face in mere moments, but now he is back. I now remember his round, aged eyes that seemed untamed and barbaric. I remember the roughness of his beard and the smell of peppermints on his breath. How he ran a hand through his messy, uncontrolled hair that fell over his left eye brow, hiding his own scars. Though I will never forget his face, his hands were the feature I recall most. They were rough, working hands; used for hard labor and slaving. Large, bruising hands that would grab at any object, letting it know he would never let go. Like a nail injected into the wall, becoming a part of its structure. I feel his hands on me now as I lie on the isolated floor. The screams in my head reverberate off the stone walls and make my ears ring. Voices screaming, crying, blaring out words of pain and misery surround me. I can’t escape, I can’t stop them, they’re too clear. My fingers clench the cement and my nails scrape a white line into the floor; I am bleeding. As the blood drops off my finger onto the white floor, I cannot feel the warmth of it, but somehow I can smell it. The rust scent of fresh blood surrounds the room and I can no longer see.
The voices cease, for now.
As I crawl out of my sitting position to move across the darkened, mournful room, my legs give out underneath me and my body crashes to the hard floor like I am crushing down into the earth’s crust. My cheek lies on the cold floor. Lack of air, room spinning, I still feel nothing. My empty thoughts try to fight through. They’re trying to tell me to pick my head up, but my head feels like it is made out of steal, and is not moveable. I am paralyzed in my own mind.
Days go by as I lay on the bare, piercing cement floor, alone. My hair surrounds my face as the light of a new day tries to sneak its way into my clearance. Somehow it becomes distracted, leaving me hopeless and abandoned. The pictures of my past are falling around me, as if a large gust of rapid wind broke through the bars confining me to this miniscule room. One lands in my eye sight and sends an electric pulse throughout my body. It’s him. I will not think his name, I promised myself that much. I have not thought of his face in mere moments, but now he is back. I now remember his round, aged eyes that seemed untamed and barbaric. I remember the roughness of his beard and the smell of peppermints on his breath. How he ran a hand through his messy, uncontrolled hair that fell over his left eye brow, hiding his own scars. Though I will never forget his face, his hands were the feature I recall most. They were rough, working hands; used for hard labor and slaving. Large, bruising hands that would grab at any object, letting it know he would never let go. Like a nail injected into the wall, becoming a part of its structure. I feel his hands on me now as I lie on the isolated floor. The screams in my head reverberate off the stone walls and make my ears ring. Voices screaming, crying, blaring out words of pain and misery surround me. I can’t escape, I can’t stop them, they’re too clear. My fingers clench the cement and my nails scrape a white line into the floor; I am bleeding. As the blood drops off my finger onto the white floor, I cannot feel the warmth of it, but somehow I can smell it. The rust scent of fresh blood surrounds the room and I can no longer see.
The voices cease, for now.
I am always alone. In my mind, confined room, and world. I look deep within my essence and find nothing but an abyss. The life I once had, the girl I once knew, is gone now. She was 17 and pretty. She had long dark hair that would breathe in the summer air like a blossoming flower. On her face were two bright, curious eyes that perceived more than what was in front of them. And she had a smile. It was a smile that seemed to glow like build boards in Time Square, or the light that was turned off on her that night.
But that light is gone now.
And so is she.
I lay on the cement floor trying to picture her face. Trying to recall the details of her face, and the look of the blood rushing to her cheeks to form a red, warming color; I couldn’t remember. As I pick myself up into sitting position my legs feel like they’re holding the weight of the world. I have to physically pick them up to move them now. For the first time, i acknowledge my beaten legs. The clawed, tore apart legs that were still attached to my mangled body somehow. As I am aware now, memories lacerated my entire exterior. I raised my head straight up to look into my mirror. The mirror that shows me the darkness in the new girl I have become. The mirror that shows the details of the outfit I wore the night he was here. The mirror that detects the dark soul and torn mind of the new girl I have been forced to transform into. The scars on the face, the neck, the collar bone, the
stomach, the legs, the arms. The mirror that absorbs the color white off my cement floors and makes it glisten around the room. I seem to be surrounded by these mirrors. No matter where I look or turn to, this face haunts me. I am locked in my own mind. Bars are closing and tightening around my chest and I can no longer breathe on my own. I try and focus my thoughts, telling them to fight for me, but I sense no activity. I am lost. I have forgotten. I have been beaten.
I don’t remember what the sun looks like and I don’t recall what warmth feels like. I no longer have blood flowing to my cheeks or curious eyes that observe. I cannot retell the details of the girls’ face that I once knew or the sound of her laughter. She is dead, and I am too.stomach, the legs, the arms. The mirror that absorbs the color white off my cement floors and makes it glisten around the room. I seem to be surrounded by these mirrors. No matter where I look or turn to, this face haunts me. I am locked in my own mind. Bars are closing and tightening around my chest and I can no longer breathe on my own. I try and focus my thoughts, telling them to fight for me, but I sense no activity. I am lost. I have forgotten. I have been beaten.
