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|Color My Face (standard:Psychological fiction, 1883 words)|
|Author: writeinbox||Added: Oct 12 2008||Views/Reads: 1600/640||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A girl has not figured out her identity, so she entitles herself as another person.|
Color My Face Today is blue when the sky remains calm, without grey outlets of raindrops. I like that day when the air is fresh without smoke. Picture a day where no one walks on the surface. Or where my mind is plain and unspoken. The day when your life has sped up five hours until the next day when you can't sleep, that is I. Today is the day when my life goes haywire. Black is the color I see when night falls. Actually at night on the windowsill I see this atrocious girl living with me. Her name is Winona. I see her in my mind at night. She has black short hair and steals things. Winona tells me to do tricks and troubles I am unaware of. I repeat this is not my voice. I am she. My name is Winona. I am not insane. Walking towards Glendale Avenue I see something, it is red and pale. As I walk down the block I repeat the colors in my mind. The grass is green with steal led coming through. Seeing the sky makes me cry because I see things up high. The roads are dusty and grey because I don't know what it is so I keep starring. I know it is not real. I am hallucinating, and I am 17 years old. My face is precisely colored with heavy duty read prints. This is because I am stressed. I have just become very depressed. as I have gotten in a huge fight with my mom. As I decide to color my face with make-up I smash the mirror with my hand and my hand bleeds. This did not help. I soon feel rusty and fall to the ground as the ambulance comes. My face is colored with, sweat, as I am unconscious. My name is called in this symbolic way. Pale is the color of my blood as I wake up. I never feel satisfied, just ready to fall asleep again. I hear things at night and see things in the morning, and I often think that I am not myself. Just like what happens when you get a gold star, but instead you are headed to the mental ward. That is I. “Winona, are you there?” The voice says at a halted stance. “Stop talking to me,” I reply diligently. I hate this voice. I can't focus when this happens. It is like a terror from hell. My body shakes as I listen. I can't listen, but my body fails and sends an instant message. I am hearing this voice as it implies, “Winona, listen to me.” “I'll listen to you, just don't scare me.” I say this with firm legit emotions. Red as I see it runs down my vein, not an intentional cut, but a symbol of love verses despair. My arm is cut and I did not cut it. I precisely cut it with a bottle on accident. My veins are coated in blue as I step out of the shower. At my hospital I have a nurse, and her name is Sara. She has short brown hair and looks like a mutant from hell. It is not the pleasantest sight. Sara holds me tight as she injects a needle through my blue vein that hides its lines in shades of red and purple. I didn't drink any water so my veins are puffy and big. She asks me if I want some medicine to go to sleep. I turn and say no. This is because I am already on a huge cocktail, which I get for dessert at bedtime. “I have medicine for you,” Sara says as she moves the cart swiftly to the right. “No thanks, I can go to sleep fine.” I talk to her as she waits in disturbance near the door. “If you don't take them, I will have to shove them down your throat, and I bet you won't like that,” Sara remarks as she intends to shove my medicine down my throat. “No Sara, I won't,” I say as I tremble in my anxiety-provoked bed. “Thank you.” Sara is very harsh as she tries to give me my medicine. At night my lights turn on quickly because I can't sleep, there is too much noise out there. I am in the mental ward 2 South. I see this troubled person standing near me, and this time it is real. Her name is Penelope. Penelope walks as a red headed female. She comes to the mental hospital for adolescents for suicide reasons. She is too risky. I feel this voice between my thighs and below my cheek. An anxiety attack floods through my veins, as my head is erect. Whispers frighten me. The color of my arm is orange and green. I have just purged. I feel my skin trembling down my spine. Remember I am not insane. In the morning I hear a knock on the door, a girl comes in as I hear a squeaking chair move. I am not okay. Penelope shoves me to the nearest door. This cannot be good. I despise this wooden hallow dream. I am sleeping. In the morning I wake up to the sound of murals crawling towards me. I tremble at my escape. This is somewhat not normal. The brisk light sparkles in my rear view mirror, as this is the windowsill. I see this, but it is unreal. I do not cut, but wish, that I were surrounded by blood itself. This time the walls are black and red. I have to keep repeating my name so I know I am still alive. Penelope knocks me down hard, as if she has a wooden fist. I am not myself, and I am now insane. “What's wrong with you?” Penelope questions as she signifies me a message. “Nothing, what do you want from me?” I reply as if I don't care. “Why are you here? That is all I want from you, just answer!” Penelope exclaims, as her fingers are Click here to read the rest of this story (66 more lines)
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