The dim light of the white season made its way through the half-drawn curtains, holding in its hands the sleeping face of the tiny, frail, vulnerable being nestled in the pillows and blankets. The exhausted soul had fallen into the numbness of the morning accompanied by the all-too-sudden stillness, which mingled with a bewildering feeling left in the catastrophy for a long time, now it was tormented by longing again. It appeared in dreams, but mostly it stuck in nightmares. They visited her every time fatigue and headache put her to sleep. Her neck tightened so tight, not allowing her head to move in any direction. The sensation lingered long enough for her to lose her breath. Just for a millisecond she had glimpsed the blurred figure of someone she knew and her mind suddenly recalled. Ethan wouldn't lay a finger on her with the intent to hurt her, only to offer her protection. The guilt and terror seeded within haunt her and she doesn't know how to escape their grip. In a state of shock and tears, the episode ends, realizing that she suffocated herself with her own blanket, flapping on all sides. Awake, the ears detected the murmur in the silence of a room that had been empty for more than a year if she counted the days correctly on the floor. The attic was the prison she could bear, but the storm-wracked soul could not. From here she observed the transformations brought by the months of winter, spring, summer and autumn, all different, always together, inseparable, she longed to be like them. She lived in her own fantasy followed by fantasies drowned in torment. In her pocket she discovered the sewing kit whose provenance is uncertain and it didn't even matter anymore. The thin, nimble needle played with the navels of her fingers, oblivious to the fact that the blood would stain the murderer. The trial called for immediate suffering, but a long-lasting one, especially since her blood was coagulating slowly. It doesn't take long, and the deafening noise from downstairs reaches upstairs. Intuition nudged her memories and told her she would sob and smile as they imagined she would. As a small child he learned to walk on two useless legs at first. The desire to get out of the attic, to quench her imagination that had been dead for a year, seethed within him. She falls heavily to the floor, hitting her head hard as if she wasn't airborne enough. Her body moved in a strange way and then she energetically got up from the floor.

-Oh, I see you've recovered.

Mey doesn't answer, she doesn't know whose female voice is nearby and remains silent. Perplexed, she noticed a spirit levitating in front of her with crossed hands, long hair down to the floor. She didn't look creepy, just angry and angry. Guess the reason: ignorance. The spirit understood that she was doing it on purpose, when in fact her astonishment stopped her from any other reaction. Her lip trembled involuntarily, she had to pull together herself. Or if there was a magic to get her out of her current state it would help her a lot now. Then the thought that she was still trapped in a horrible nightmare was transposed into reality with fabulous ferocity. How did she recover? Was she also sick with something besides her own madness? That she was lucky that no one suspected her of unusual behavior suitable for psychiatry?! They probably forgot about her or this idea didn't occur to them. She sighed tired of everything and a question popped into her mind. Determined, the zest for life had begun to take root again for a quickly conceived plan. However, the main, current problem is clearly perceived: strength 0%, motivation 60%. The egg is the plan and if the chicken managed to break the shell then the beginning was positive. She calculated the probability of success, of hatching a chick from a hatched egg, and the result was half satisfactory, but there was something.

–Stop looking at me like that and say a word.

–I have more words, do you want to hear them?

–I've been waiting for this for more than a century, I'm losing patience.

Mey tried to open her mouth, but all that opened was the attic door, and she froze. The threshold was tormented by the dirty shoes of his relatives with crocodile tears, along with the director somewhere behind.

–My dear, we have come to take you home, hurry! The crazy overweight woman in a black faux mink coat screamed. What's more, she was dying at that moment and the man, a skeleton, was trying to hold her, so she wouldn't fall down. She reaches out for Mey and manages to grab her like a wedge, suffocating her with a face hug. After the other individual, equally good at acting, uses a napkin to wipe the non-existent dirt from her cheeks. Even in a pitiful stage she would not allow herself to become one with the garbage whose smell was her number one enemy. Their care is more ignorance and indifference sprinkled with hate, just like the candy on the cage.

– How big you have grown, commented the man with hiccups between sobs. The scene was so sickening, rude, equal to slum behavior. The righteous didn't live in the slum, more precisely in the middle of the city, the pale, one-story house surrounded by a perfectly trimmed hedge and daisies on the sidewalk.

– That's right and what a terrible episode!

–I mean, we brought you here because of a huge financial problem, and we thought that the orphanage was a good and temporary idea.

–Our new jobs did not allow us to have time for any visit, such dark days! Unlucky!

–We have planned visits many times and even sent gifts, I hope you received them, and the woman blinks and another string of tears flowed from those viper eyes.

–How much care and I can imagine how much effort you put in and now, how nice to see how a family reunites. He kept the director fondly pointing out the melodramatic story served on the tray.

–Don't say anything anymore.

–Agree!

–Thanks also for your concern.

Overweight was flattered by the director about his kindness, a dart on the girl turned into a joker face, which got on her nerves and later she would lose her mind in front of him, probably drunk, threatening her with a bottle of wine old. The blue shards over the bathroom tiles made an interesting contrast, but the piece de resistance in the painting was missing. She had missed the target and was nervously fishing the weapon back with the aim of getting his revenge. The color red appeared violently, a red tsunami would instantly pour out again and again. Fear and pleas touched up the empty places in the bathroom, the picture being complete, perfectly macabre. A field of sunflowers, here red, on the side of a road, where the person was with her undead cry. From that terror-stricken person managed to escape, taking advantage of the enemy's inattention, to be calm.
Now in their clutches she was heading back to where she left after 5 years at the orphanage where they ignored her existence. It hurt a lot: pushed inside her ancient prison—her room was cluttered with empty or empty boxes, next to which there was a makeshift bed and a huge closet, which was locked if you used the key. The tiny window above the bed gave her as much light as she could to see around the room. The darkness no longer caused her any reaction, because she lived in it, feeling safe. Plus the sun's rays were hurting her. Talented as she was, when she was a little lame she managed to develop an allergy to UV rays. Manifested by skin eruptions on the face and hands. The pale rays of the sun filtered through the uncomfortable bedspread, touching her, but this time they didn't hurt her anymore. She wondered where Erhan was to protect her from this evil world and how to track him down. The solution to her problem was right under her nose if she was right about one thing.

The window slammed open and she awoke from her daydream, noticing that the dull needle poked its head against the navel of her fingers. The color red had come this way, of its own accord, not as a result of violent action, and now she knew. She must have taken the needle out of the little sewing kit whose provenance was not hard to guess. The salt drained from the eyes had skinned the cheeks full of red patches, showing no mercy. She would often find blood stains on her clothes, then look at her fingers and sigh as she realized what she had done again. This time she got bored with the need to touch the needle, she was completely cold. Often a madness arose within her, a hope that she would consume all the oxygen between the four walls and that would be the end of the story. Forever free from her own prison, then perched on the mane of the orphanage.From there you can best see the evening or morning sky bathed in colors. In the evening or in the morning you would find her there, sitting alone, lost in her world. They thought she had an obsession with God or was thinking of jumping, in short she was considered crazy. She closed her irritated eyes, hurt by the light, she was weak. Someone's footsteps approached from behind her and she could guess that these were his. She didn't want to let him comfort her, even though she'd known him since they had snot in their noses and wiped themselves with their sweater sleeves. She never said this to anyone: I have always liked to be free, so the desire was born to want to have someone, to go away, far from everything in the world, I would be the happiest. My hope seems to be dying, but I think it's already dead, it died from inside me.
She looked at it, but it seemed to be already a ghost, something out of her imagination. She knew there was no way he could be next to her anymore, the world separated them. She still had an old feeling thrown through her and some memories of when everything was better. She missed the boy, the apricot jam, the attic, the sunrise and the sunset. She had to find the strength to leave and make herself invisible, she couldn't stand anything, not even her condition.

© BlairAmy
#pain #lost #back #prison #nopeace #ghost

Ps: ..I am still asking myself why I wrote a long chapter, but the next one is pretty long.. and then editing for 2h – to guess what I wanted to say :))