Sounds

Why does he sound happy?

He sounds like he's delighted to be here, when I know he's not. When I know he was focused here but the bullies. By the rulers of the hallway, he follows them like a loyal subject. Not for any reason I can think of. And I want to ask him to justify his actions, but I'm afraid I'm reading the situation wrong. I'm afraid that I'm making a mistake, and that he really wants to be here. But I also know I wasn't hallucinating when I observed the scene from yesterday. I know I saw a look of desperation.

As my friends walk towards me, I tear my attention away from boy before me and turn around to laugh at some lame jokes I don't really understand. My head is pre-occupied by what I witnessed yesterday and I'm still hung up about it. I can't shake the thought and I can't hear clearly the words being spoken around me.

Only the words he said are running through my mind at an infinite speed per hour and I see the fear in his eyes. There's no doubt what I heard was right.

"Please. Stop. I can't take it anymore," he sobbed.

But I'm still afraid to speak up. I'm still afraid to do something. It's wrong, it's twisted. It's just... not right.

Luckily, I have a little bit of courage in reserve, somewhere buried deep inside my conscience. Maybe the guilt brought it out or maybe the regret from not doing something at the first moment I watched the event brought on this newly produced bravery. I find myself walking into the office and writing an incident report, not quite sure what to describe. So I stop. I grab the first teacher I see in the office and I talk to do her. I tell her honestly what I heard, what I saw, and even what I felt.

Feeling a little lighter as a walked out of the office, I set out to make a new friend.

Say the Words that Matter

I have to say it like I care. Like the world knows me and I'm important. Say like I can make a difference and influence the thinking of others. I want to say it confidently and I want to say it well. But really, honestly, there are words that should be left unsaid and words that are are best buried under the sand of unforgiving skin. Sometimes the stares are hardest to bear, but I can't seem to speak up and do something about it. Anything. If I said anything, it would be different. I have to say it with the effort I can't find right now. Say it. Say it like I care.

Focus

The problem of being able to focus for a long period of time when I need to always arises as a problem. There's always something else I could do and that something else is always something else I'd rather be doing. There's no help in the nature of procrastination and no saviour for me.

Anxiety

A fallen anxiety
tries to reach the bottom of that pitch black
HOLE!
Only to be bounced back by the waves of
warning signs that convince it to
RESURFACE
So it can be reconsidered for any other emotional branding
other than
Unwanted
Because the feelings influence more than
the brain, that is eternally logical, is
Screaming to throw away the pieces of doubt

But just a trace of anxiety is enough to haunt
My SLEEP
And break into my restless being...

A cute escape

Replay

I trudged onwards knowing there was no exit. Onwards down the metallic hallway without the closest door squeaking even a little in my tired presence. But what was the use? Without a way to escape my hell, the best I could do in this situation was the prolonging of the pain given to my already scarred and blood-deprived body. Even though every step was an effort almost too great for me to withstand, I managed to muster up the will to go on; the thought of seeing my brother kept me going.

As I tried to push open another doors I knew was locked, somewhere in the desperation of my mind, I prayed for a miracle. Any divinity that could get me away from this hallway, I would be willing to worship for the rest of my existence. Still, dreams cease to be reality.

HIS steps behind me were silent and the only indication of his presence was the aura I was now slowly getting used to. The only feature I remember about the man was his scarlet, red eyes. Before, fear would strike my entire body, but I felt almost nothing as his gloved hands came up behind my delicate skull and wiped the blood around my neck, almost gently.

“I’ll be alright,” he purred.

While my breathing was ecstatic, my heart beat was still strong. The thought of living to see my brother scrambled inside my mind as the only coherent thing that existed.

Growing up with someone was the single most annoying thing in the world. When every word my brother spoke was as predictable as my failing grade, I came to know him better than I should have. I’d seen him laugh till he cried, and smile till all the emotions he would bury in silence flooded out in the form of silent tears. Yet, I’ve never heard him scream. Not like the blood rupturing sound that assaulted my ears. It wasn’t a sound of pain or frustration. It was a sign of absolute lost hope. Feeling as if my own world had been tortured by merciless devils, the air suddenly became too dusty and the endless hallway seemed too constrictive. My breathing went out of control.

However, it wasn’t until I saw the crimson splatter onto the maroon carpet, did I realise the knife He was holding had plunged into my arm.  Still, the pain never hit me. The tear did first. Along with the salty tears that came in the same volume as the never-ending ocean water, the thought of dying along with my brother struck me.

I vaguely remember my capturer whispering something incoherent into my ear, as I fell onto the floor staining it a new shade of crimson red.

***

I woke up surrounded by a nurse working roughly over me in a room with lights too bright for my newly opened eyes.

“You’ve just been in a car accident. It appears as if you’ve had an allergic reaction to the medication the doctor prescribed and you’ve been hallucinating. ”

Her words didn’t register in my mind.

***

The downward spiral continued until I heard him say, “It’ll be alright.”

I was laying in His arms now, head completely unsupported. My eyes flipped to the back of my head as the sight of the carpet welcomed me to a new kind of terror; a different scene of fright His scarlet red eyes didn’t show. The carpet may be the key to silence in his hallway and maze and the carpet didn’t extend to the room with the light coming underneath the door.

But I was now close enough to the dried fluffy surface that I could see the maroon wasn’t an even shade. The once white carpet was stained with the colour of dried blood.

***

“Don’t worry. The drug should wear off soon. Your brother’s in the waiting room. Would you like me to call him here? Blink once for yes, or twice for no.”

I summoned the strength I didn’t know I had and blinked my eyes. As she left my annoyingly beeping monitored-room, I breathed a sigh of relief; the first in a long time. My brother was okay and I, to some degree, would be okay, too.

My bother entered my hospital room with gleaming eyes. It was so hard to look away, so mesmerizing that I almost didn’t notice the man with the white coat walking in. Immediately, my brother’s blissful laughter over my recovery was tuned out by the motion of His hands hovering over the two of us.

That man...

With the scarlet red eyes...

http://omegle.com/

It's strange. I had this three hour conversation with a random person and the feeling of connecting with someone is actually very bonding. We talk and we lie, but at the end of it, it took my mind off the things that was upsetting me and it was carefree. Everything was relaxing because I didn't have to think about the stressful things in my life and I could forget about the little issues that were bothering me. It's not that big of a deal, but I felt like a needed a place to vent out my anger on.