|A Need For Color (standard:drama, 1035 words)|
|Author: Charlotte D'Espoir||Added: Jul 08 2003||Views/Reads: 1892/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A girl alone in the world. Locked inside an empty room. Left to the trails her mind takes every night. This is a story about a girl whocannot stand the emptiness she is forced to live in and in a desperate attempt to make it standable, she found the color|
Her eyes were closed. The house creaked around her. Pearls of thunder rolled around outside, distant enough to be relaxing. She turned over to face the wall beside her bed. Her eyes, no longer shut; she stared at the whitewash walls. She longed for a painting in her room. Something to wipe out the bleakness. There were no windows in her room. There was only a plain white door, her twin-size bed, a six-drawer dresser, white, a simple white desk with four drawers, a white straight-backed chair. At the end of her bed stood a simple nightstand, which held her alarm clock and a lamp. Lastly was wall-to-wall carpeting. A constant white. Her lamp was still on and she watched the wall with such vigor that one with think at a single glance that there was something in it. She did this every night, and every night she thinks exactly the same thing. A painting, something that would take her mind off everything. How her father beats her every morning, how she watches him beat her mom when he doesn't like breakfast. How she is sent to her room for breathing to loud. Every day it is the same thing. She was starting to crack. It was happening. She could feel it. Pretty soon, she was gong to explode; she needed to do something before she did something rash. She rolled out of bed and onto the carpet. The harsh feel of it almost made her wince. Her bruised body screamed in torment as the coarse rug scratched at her skin. She could take that. Pain helped. It always brought her back to where she was. It calmed her mind. She could concentrate on the pain and handle everything. She looked around her room. She had spent the majority of her life in this little room. Not that it was overly small. It was just so, confining. A scream filled the empty house. It was her mother, instinctively her hands flew up to her ears and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother was sobbing now. A painting. That was what she needed. And she knew how to get it. Slowly she let her arms drop to her sides; her mother's sobs weren't subsiding. Tears glided down her cheeks. She stood up, completely unaware of their presence. Making her way to her desk, she pulled her hair back behind her ears. Sliding open the main drawer of her desk she rummaged through a small assortment of pens and pencils and erasers and found her straightedge ruler. The kind with that medal strip in it. She picked this up and a pencil. She walked over to her wall and brought the tip of her pencil to it. She let it rest a moment against the perfect white of the room. Then she brought it down harshly. Silently for hours into the night, she drew, pictures of her mother crying, broken plates, a pretty white house set in a country scene, a white house. She drew trees and a lightning storm. As she stood in the center of her room and spun slowly to examine her new room, she started to smile, and that smile spread to a giggle, and soon she was spinning her head thrown back, eyes closed, arms spread out wide. She collapsed and felt such a rush of energy from what she had just done. If her father found out-- but he won't. He never goes into her room. She had beaten him. He can't hurt her anymore. As she looked around her room, she felt something was missing. She listened for a sound in the house. There was none, but the storm had landed atop the house and it rumbled it's glory for all to hear. She smiled. She knew what was missing. Color. And she knew what color. Blood. She thought for a moment. Her brow creased, in determination. She picked up the ruler and knew what she must do. She heard the walls screaming around her. The night wind echoing their cries. A bolt of lightning stuck nearby, but she didn't jump. She was ready. She slowly let the ruler rest on her arm, in a quick sharp draw, and pulled it across from wrist to elbow. She almost cried out. Looking down at her arm, tears clouding her vision. There was no blood. She took the ruler this time, pressed the tip against her wrist and pushed. A cry escaped her as it broke the skin. Tears poured down from her eyes in raging river, her lips quivered in pain and her body trembled in preparation. She pulled the ruler down slowly, making sure it was a deep cut, feeling it tear at her skin, and she felt it breaking, a fire raged in her skin and she bit her lip. As the ruler neared her elbow she pulled the ruler away from her bleeding arm. Blood was running down her arms and hand, dripping on the white carpet. She held her arm out, and let the blood fall, as she tasted it in her mouth. She slowly went in a circle large enough to lay in. going over it a few times. On her crisp white carpet, now lay a circle of vibrant red. She cried and cried but she forced herself to bear it. She knew she could, she had come so far. The blood started to clot she could tell. She hadn't severed the artery completely. She picked up the ruler again and with a scream she dug it into fresh wound, biting her lips to stifle the scream. She slid the ruler down to her elbow again. Started at the wrist and did it again. Around the third time she collapsed in her circle. The ruler dropped carelessly to the floor. She cried so hard, she thought her chest would break and her lungs would collapse. She lay curled on the floor, feeling the burning pain in her arm. Concentrating on it until it was no more. She watched her new room fade into nothing, until there was just blood. Even as the scent lingered, the blood faded away into darkness. Soon there was nothing. Tweet
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