I know, I know. I promised a happy story. But yesterday, I was high (on life, no worries) and randomly started writing. I saw a Fanfiction (something about the secrets of the COTRK) where Dorcas said to be anorexic before she came to Bloors. When she healed, she started eating everything because she was afraid to go back to that state. Or something like that. . .
Anywho, I thought it was interesting, so, why not? Here's my really confusing, depressing fanfic. Don't ask about Kentucky.
Disclaimer: Yes I'm Jenny Nimmo. Totally.
Crouching in my prison of fear and corruption, I cling tightly to my most prized possession and let my tears evanescence into its murky depths, soon to become another brick in the wall of my life. The never-ending script crinkles in my hands as every fear I possess turns to scratches on its broken surface. In this cruel world the twisted mind of mine thrust me into; this well of sorrow is the one thing I can claim as mine.
Like a starved animal, I desperately clutch its darkened surface, praying I can draw nourishment from the murky emptiness, but alas, there is none to receive, but the censure of past sins and the shallow sounds of a shore far away (the last memory of my short-lived moments of bliss). Yet I cling tighter, for the bittersweet knowledge of the nectar in my life that has long since fled to higher places feed my dying flames.
The rain of woe does little but blows my shattered pieces even farther apart, yet it cannot dismember me from my lone item. Throughout the sleet, and the hail, and the storm, and the wind, my fragile body will remain wrapped around my fractured haven where fallen angels weep and memories of sweet Kentucky grass whisper softly in the now-dried desert, filled with the decomposing corpse of my innocence and hour's loss of youth.
Shoved on the island of vanity, I was forced to relinquish everything I held dear for a long-forgotten promise of false beauty. Now I lie robbed of my body, watching once blue skies curdle with blood and the dust of deception as the previously warm winds of hope is shred to mere hallucinations I once perceived a musty, broken mirror. Now the smell of burnt pride reigns where flowers once lingered, while yesterday's sunny mornings fade into a thickened haze.
Closing my eyes, I run one calloused finger down the length of the black satin curtain, mayhaps the only privacy this chamber will allow me, feeling its tears and scared edges and inhaling the wispy scent of smoke.
Crouching in my prison of fear and corruption, I cling tightly to the story of me.