She felt his fingers grasping the skin on her neck. It didn’t even hurt. It was as if she was somewhere up on the ceiling while witnessing her own death. The thought did not move her. His grip tightened by the second, while her pink skin turned blue, then violet. She was unable to move her limbs; she was paralyzed. She chose to ignore the pain.
She felt the cold touch of the water on her feet. She left the house early in the morning, but forgot to put on her shoes. The surface of the water was frozen; it cracked as soon as she stepped on it. Her feet were usually frozen and wet. She did not feel a thing. She sighed and leaned forward. She looked down and kept walking. Her mind was elsewhere. They were looking at her, but she did not hear them. Her choice was to ignore the voices.
Her bloody fingers grabbing the blood stained sheets; the sheets were cutting the skin, opening the freshly carved words. The door was left ajar. He was standing in the dark, watching. For a moment, she felt like she was not alone. She had choked on the words she could not utter. It was on the floor, drenched in the warm body fluid. Yet he did not see it. He did not want to see it. He had chosen to ignore.
Her hands were tied while her face was touching the dirty floor. She was blindfolded. The white bandage which covered her eyes was soaked with salty tears. Her tears had carved deep into the skin of her cheeks. She was begging for her life. She uttered a scream when she felt the warmth of the candle light on her burning skin. She was relieved. She chose to ignore her weakness.
The needle that was piercing the skin, while entering the vein. Feeling the blood draining from her body. It was not enough. It never is enough. The knife was approaching her face. Her hands and legs were tied to the metal chair. The fabric was carving her skin. Two strong hands were gripping her shoulders, immobilizing her body. He was breathing heavily on her neck, forcing her to open her mouth. She felt a sharp pain in her neck; she coughed blood. Strands of her blue hair were scattered on the floor, mixed with her own blood. Her tips tasted of blood and the inside of her throat was aching. She chose to ignore her fear.
A shadow of what she used to be. A blurred picture in reverse. The burning flames reaching towards the sky. She was running to save herself. They did not make it. She could hear their screams from their bedroom. The wood cracked; the entire house cracked. The sound was deafening. She chose life.
The misty air was making her breathe with difficulty. Her heart was exhausted, both from the climbing, as well as from the lack of oxygen. She had the same thoughts in her mind; they were haunting her day and night. She was wondering whether she was hallucinating. She had reached a barbed wire fence. Instinctively, she grabbed her left wrist while resting her hands on her knees. She chose to forget.
The house lied in ruins for the past five years. Nobody dared crossing the fence, but her. She used to come here to write and listen to music. She found a shard of glass. The object still remains in her possession. She chose not to let go.
Each picture in her mind has a story longing to be written on canvas.
