December 30th, 2010

What gets written in my world? Numbers, ideas and schedules. Plans, locations and other miserable things. I've very little time to write, and being sore makes me want to do so even less. I've been spending my time watching over an ill family member in the hospital, but I did get a chance to scribble some words down.

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

The sound was of a hand, aiming to smack at the light switch, missing by inches each time. Every time she opened her eyes, the fake rays of light caused them to feel as though they were on fire. Each time she moved, her knees came in tighter to her chest. It was as though there was a massive growth inside of her, beating on her insides, stabbing them repeatedly. 

Tears seemed to have finally run out, leaving her face slightly moist, as she repeatedly cursed herself for doing it again. She could have stopped it, prevented feeling like this again, and yet here she was. Nausea plagued her, her head pounded, and the guilt she felt was starting to consume her.

 Don't ask.
Sarah