literature

Alice in Sorrowland

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Literature Text

Whenever a human is described, they are described starting with their faces. She was not a human by any means, but that is where I shall start describing her.

She had pale skin. Usually pale skin is lovely, but on her it was almost gray and very sickly looking. Her eyes were dark, bottomless pits of black which you could drown in if you weren't careful. She wouldn't want you to drown- she knew the unspeakable horrors of having no air and no way of regaining contact with the real world all too well- but it didn't matter, as she never looked anyone in the eyes. Her face was always hidden by her hair, tangled, dirty, and impenetrable. Her hair was black, and shadowed her features perfectly. Her tiny little nose, her cracked, dry, bloody lips. Her lips were important, but she never let anyone see them. They showed the state of her mind. She, too, was cracked, beaten, and bloody. Only half the blood was hers.

Her neck was scratched up, as if she had been trying to tear her lungs out through them. The scratch marks were obviously done by her, but no one knew who had given her the many bite marks. That was just as well, as she'd rather keep that as secret as the rest of her. The wounds traveled down onto her shoulders as well, along with burn marks, but those were mainly hidden by her modest gray sweatshirt. It was a size too large for her, and went down past her hands. She never bothered to roll up the sleeves. It was a shame; her arms were the best part of her. Her arms were well muscled, but not noticeably. They seemed to whisper of her hidden reservoir of strength though, and she couldn't have that. They held scars of their own, and she had thought that that would teach them to shut up, but they still showed more of her than she would have liked. So she hid them, along with her cracked, rough, hands with her broken, dirty pale finger nails. As long as she kept on her sweatshirt they were hidden.

Her legs were harder. Pants hid them, but only for so long. When they changed for gym, she always managed to change quickly enough, or in a place where no one could see her. She was never seen naked. But in gym they had to wear shorts. Shorts showed her legs, which were almost as muscled as her arms. They were also scratched up, but thankfully higher, on her thighs, so that no one would ever know. Still, she hated wearing shorts. She hated gym. She hated school. She hated that he knew. And she hated him most of all.

There weren't really very many things that she liked, in fact. She liked the safety of invisibility, but she hated being ignored. She liked knowing that she was safe, but for how long? She liked knowing he couldn't find her, but that was a lie. She wanted him to find her. She needed him to find her. She couldn't continue her hidden pretense any longer, but she couldn't stand his steady gaze, his whispered comments, his smug grin any longer. She was trapped, trapped between a rock and nowhere. The rock would crush her. Nowhere would erase her. She had no choice. Either way she wouldn't make it out.

At least, not alive.

It was all a lie anyway. He knew exactly where to find her. He knew exactly where she was. She would never be safe as long as he was alive. She knew it. She hated it.

So here she was, walking down the school hall with a back as straight as a broken pencil, eyes cast downwards in shame, arms curled around disintegrating books, heading towards science. She poured hopes and lies into a beaker, and mixed in pain and a drop of her blood until the combination turned deadly. She skipped on the cracks to language arts, and wrote her life's story with one hand while pulling out hair with the other. Then she picked up an eraser and swept the hair into the trash.
She rode the bus home, ignoring the squeals of ignorance from her peers, and walked to her door. She went to check the mail, unlocked the front door, went back to get the mail, and let herself in through the back. She ate three strawberries standing up, trying not to disturb the five empty chairs at the table. She sat down in front of the TV and turned it on to watch her day in reverse.

Sometimes she wondered what the world would be like if she had never been born.

And now she's calling a not friend, and she's trying to build a bridge out of matches and math, but it's going to burn, all it takes is a bit of friction, but it doesn't matter because it can't hold her weight
And now
She's
 F
 A
L
 L
I
N
 G

Into a Wonderland of a different kind. She can hear their mocking voices and she wants the Cheshire Cat to tell her the way, but as everyone knows, if you don't know where you want to go then it doesn't matter where you end up. And now she's caught the red queens attention, and either she or her head must be off in less than no time. Sew buttons over her eyes and glue her mouth shut, she can't be allowed to understand. Inject poison happiness into her veins and make her swallow pills of sleep.

She curled up into her bed, the chemicals traveling sluggishly through her veins, shadows raping her skin. Her mind slowed down to a dull haze, the non-existent colors drowned out by the promise of normalcy.

She laid there until morning, drowning in a pool of toxic blood and ice cream tears.
It needs a better title, suggestions will be apprectiated.

The preview picture uses the base [link] , by :iconame-pixels:
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thedarkesthinny's avatar
It does not need a better title that one is cool ps nice job.