Post by jodunford on Jun 24, 2005 10:50:25 GMT
some of you may also see this else where but i can't help being a post-whore.....and everything is shoved into page 7 within 4 hours. anyway!
comments/constructive criticism/etc welcome
thanky!
love jo
xxx
Wake up. Pinpoints of light filter through to your eyes and you can see vague shapes in the distance. There’s those first blissful moments when you don’t remember what happened the day before, then wham, it hits you like a fist into a brick wall. That familiar pain, searing pain that shoots through your face under your skin and makes you want to cry out. Its all come flooding back now. You raise your hand up to touch your face, to check its all still real, that its not a dream. The texture is all wrong, some parts are swollen, and the skin has stretched accordingly. Other parts are ripped, broken, torn into pieces. As your fingers run over your skin, there are new grooves that should not be there.
Sit up, accompanied by a sharp pain in your stomach. You violently vomit all over the floor as your body didn’t give you enough warning to let you make it to the bathroom. Still in a severe state of confusion, you try to gather your thoughts together to make it possible to assess the situation. Assess the situation so that you can work out what is best. What is safest should be the priority, but your safety and sense of security went a long time ago, along with your confidence and any respect you had for yourself.
You grab your mobile and stumble out of your room and onto the landing. Somehow you manage to get down the stairs without too much pain, and head straight for the bag that is kept hidden under coats near the front door in case of emergency. Does this qualify as an emergency? You close the door quietly behind you and look up at the sky. You make a pathetic attempt at running until you reach the end of the road, looking behind you every 5 paces or so, checking you’re not being followed. You have everything you need for the short term. Phone, a small amount of money, a toothbrush, a book. A change of clothes.
As you hobble along the roads lined with houses, your brain is undecided as to whether to panic, or to go into a state of apathy. Anyone you walk past stares, at the cuts on your face that have reopened, and the strange way that you are walking. You are trying to hide the face that is twisted into a contortion of pain. After a mile or so you reach some public toilets and have a chance to clean yourself up, tentatively dabbing at your wounds which bleed more due to the heat of the water. You don’t feel the tears that leave your eyes and pour down your cheeks. They mix with the blood on your face but you don’t notice.
Go back. Back to yesterday, back to why you are like this. A joke. We were laughing together, laughing at him, but he was laughing too. Everyone happy together. Then bang, face change. Warning sign: facial expression changing. That means go, get out, whatever you want to do just get out of there now. Headed for the door, but too late. Pinned up against the wall, you waited for the first punch. Closed fist, and it took a couple of seconds to realise it had made contact with your face. Then your stomach. Again. And again. A minute feels like an hour, and you are still trying to leave the room. The same room that has your school photographs on the walls. The rest is a blur but somehow you make it up to your bedroom. You must have done, to wake up there the following day.
comments/constructive criticism/etc welcome
thanky!
love jo
xxx
Wake up. Pinpoints of light filter through to your eyes and you can see vague shapes in the distance. There’s those first blissful moments when you don’t remember what happened the day before, then wham, it hits you like a fist into a brick wall. That familiar pain, searing pain that shoots through your face under your skin and makes you want to cry out. Its all come flooding back now. You raise your hand up to touch your face, to check its all still real, that its not a dream. The texture is all wrong, some parts are swollen, and the skin has stretched accordingly. Other parts are ripped, broken, torn into pieces. As your fingers run over your skin, there are new grooves that should not be there.
Sit up, accompanied by a sharp pain in your stomach. You violently vomit all over the floor as your body didn’t give you enough warning to let you make it to the bathroom. Still in a severe state of confusion, you try to gather your thoughts together to make it possible to assess the situation. Assess the situation so that you can work out what is best. What is safest should be the priority, but your safety and sense of security went a long time ago, along with your confidence and any respect you had for yourself.
You grab your mobile and stumble out of your room and onto the landing. Somehow you manage to get down the stairs without too much pain, and head straight for the bag that is kept hidden under coats near the front door in case of emergency. Does this qualify as an emergency? You close the door quietly behind you and look up at the sky. You make a pathetic attempt at running until you reach the end of the road, looking behind you every 5 paces or so, checking you’re not being followed. You have everything you need for the short term. Phone, a small amount of money, a toothbrush, a book. A change of clothes.
As you hobble along the roads lined with houses, your brain is undecided as to whether to panic, or to go into a state of apathy. Anyone you walk past stares, at the cuts on your face that have reopened, and the strange way that you are walking. You are trying to hide the face that is twisted into a contortion of pain. After a mile or so you reach some public toilets and have a chance to clean yourself up, tentatively dabbing at your wounds which bleed more due to the heat of the water. You don’t feel the tears that leave your eyes and pour down your cheeks. They mix with the blood on your face but you don’t notice.
Go back. Back to yesterday, back to why you are like this. A joke. We were laughing together, laughing at him, but he was laughing too. Everyone happy together. Then bang, face change. Warning sign: facial expression changing. That means go, get out, whatever you want to do just get out of there now. Headed for the door, but too late. Pinned up against the wall, you waited for the first punch. Closed fist, and it took a couple of seconds to realise it had made contact with your face. Then your stomach. Again. And again. A minute feels like an hour, and you are still trying to leave the room. The same room that has your school photographs on the walls. The rest is a blur but somehow you make it up to your bedroom. You must have done, to wake up there the following day.
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