Where was she? How did she get here? She can't remember precisely, there are flashes of hazy memories, but she doesn't know which of them are real and which are imagined.
She's lying on the floor, helpless and alone. Are these nightmares ? Are these just voices in her head? Or are those noises a part of her warped reality? The endless screams, the endless wails, the endless grovelling. Sounds of glass shattering,of people writhing in pain, of hysterical laughter.
She's lying on the floor, trembling with fear, anger, sadness; the intensity of which emotions is causing excruciating pain. But is the pain physical or mental? She can't believe what she has just witnessed. Her body is aching all over; the demons have kicked, punched, slapped , bitten her, squeezed her throat to choke her again and again, yanked her by the hair forcing her to swallow pieces of newspaper stuffed in her mouth. She couldn't have cried, couldn't have whimpered in pain, couldn't have called out for help. They'd hear her and would probably do worse.
She's lying on the floor, heart working up a frantic tachycardia, but her mind numb. It refuses to deal with anything. Not to be blamed -too much has happened already. She's been threatened to be killed by crazed near and dear ones, heard respectables be called dogs and spit on, seen children popping pills to escape, cripples being bludgeoned with radios, pets being thrown off balconies, menials being threatened with a knife to their throat. Strong men and women are crying, struggling to breathe, their faces red. And her? She'd fight these demons, except, they are the embodiment of Hell, and she's promised not to as well as there are lives at stake.
She remembers trying to run away, because she isn't allowed to face her fears. Away from the sobs, bewildered cries and the Evil. She can't take it anymore. She's completely broken. She doesn't know where sanctuary is, but she's running. It's a black and seemingly never-ending road. She can feel the eyes of the public on her, laughing at her miserable looks, commenting on how inappropriate her clothes are. She finds a lighted doorway, and on the other side, she can see a way out, friends, support! But they seem to be moving away from her. Never mind, let her try; she's so close! But alas, she's too fat to fit through the door, and they've gone.
She keeps running. She slips, she falls. She's lying on the floor in a room which smells mouldy, with pieces of her happy childhood scattered around her, encrusted with dust. She's lying on the floor and can feel her puppy try to find her face amidst the mass of bushy hair, in order to lick her face. She's lying on the floor, her self -respect entirely stripped, wanting to fall asleep and never wake up. She's lying on the floor , folded on a side in foetal position, with her hands folded , to ask for forgiveness for whatever she has done to deserve this , and to beg for someone to switch the light on; because the isolation is terrifying, and she's afraid of the dark.
She's lying on the floor, helpless and alone. Are these nightmares ? Are these just voices in her head? Or are those noises a part of her warped reality? The endless screams, the endless wails, the endless grovelling. Sounds of glass shattering,of people writhing in pain, of hysterical laughter.
She's lying on the floor, trembling with fear, anger, sadness; the intensity of which emotions is causing excruciating pain. But is the pain physical or mental? She can't believe what she has just witnessed. Her body is aching all over; the demons have kicked, punched, slapped , bitten her, squeezed her throat to choke her again and again, yanked her by the hair forcing her to swallow pieces of newspaper stuffed in her mouth. She couldn't have cried, couldn't have whimpered in pain, couldn't have called out for help. They'd hear her and would probably do worse.
She's lying on the floor, heart working up a frantic tachycardia, but her mind numb. It refuses to deal with anything. Not to be blamed -too much has happened already. She's been threatened to be killed by crazed near and dear ones, heard respectables be called dogs and spit on, seen children popping pills to escape, cripples being bludgeoned with radios, pets being thrown off balconies, menials being threatened with a knife to their throat. Strong men and women are crying, struggling to breathe, their faces red. And her? She'd fight these demons, except, they are the embodiment of Hell, and she's promised not to as well as there are lives at stake.
She remembers trying to run away, because she isn't allowed to face her fears. Away from the sobs, bewildered cries and the Evil. She can't take it anymore. She's completely broken. She doesn't know where sanctuary is, but she's running. It's a black and seemingly never-ending road. She can feel the eyes of the public on her, laughing at her miserable looks, commenting on how inappropriate her clothes are. She finds a lighted doorway, and on the other side, she can see a way out, friends, support! But they seem to be moving away from her. Never mind, let her try; she's so close! But alas, she's too fat to fit through the door, and they've gone.
She keeps running. She slips, she falls. She's lying on the floor in a room which smells mouldy, with pieces of her happy childhood scattered around her, encrusted with dust. She's lying on the floor and can feel her puppy try to find her face amidst the mass of bushy hair, in order to lick her face. She's lying on the floor, her self -respect entirely stripped, wanting to fall asleep and never wake up. She's lying on the floor , folded on a side in foetal position, with her hands folded , to ask for forgiveness for whatever she has done to deserve this , and to beg for someone to switch the light on; because the isolation is terrifying, and she's afraid of the dark.
Pain throws your heart to to ground. Love turns the whole thing around. No it wil not go the way it should, I know that the heart of life is good......reminds me of that
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