Most people sit and think about their future. They think about a happy, and joyful future. A future with love, happiness, pleasure, and responsibility. But me, I think about death, and how I want it so badly.
My finger slowly move across the cold stone floor. I feel the texture of it, cool, smooth, and hard. While I run hand across the dark surface a stabbing pain begins to form, running up and down my fingers. It's the pain that shoots up and down my body every waking day. For me the feeling is normal, for you it's death. I look at my fingertips, where I see blood running down my hands, and clots of blood stuck in my fingertips. I can barely see my hands in front of my face, let alone my whole blood soaken body. With this lighting nobody normal would be able to see. The only lighting comes from a small flickering light up at the very top of the ceiling. I look up at the ceiling light while it hits off my face. I hear whispers, then. Something I often hear.
~BeBrandy (Yet to be continued, if needed)
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