𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧
I wish life had a remote controller so I could skip my teenage years. Who would have thought living could be this painful when you grew up with all the love a child could wish for. It feels privileged to feel lik...
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Brown eyes hitting the mirror with dark circles drawn under them. The colors taken from the canvas of my tiredness.
I wish I could sleep forever sometimes. Where the darkness protects me. Darkness has it's own form of peace.
There are no mirrors in the darkness,
No voices,
No screams.
Pictures are sprawled all over my comforter on the fresh made bed. So many pictures I had hung over my walls for all those years. Years of happiness and freedom. I had to get rid of them.
I had ripped them all off my walls when I went feral because of the voices. All those fucking voices.
My walls looked empty, the wallpaper was peeling off on the places the duck tape had held the polaroid pictures in place.
Grabbing the trash from under my desk I fall on my knees to the floor, right in front of my bed. Tears would coat my cheeks if I could feel the emotions to cry.
There are no tears left. I couldn't cry.
My dad is holding me up in the air while I'm dressed as aurora, I was five on that picture.
When I was five I wanted to be like my mom.
I'm sitting on a bench with my brother, holding his little body to my side while ice cream is dripping on our shirts, I was nine in that picture.
When I was nine I wanted to be major just like my aunt.
The table is decorated in the color purple and there is a big cake in front of me, the candles still burning. I was thirteen in that picture.
When I was thirteen I wanted to be the most popular girl when high school a year after the picture was taken.
My great grandpa is smiling at my father who captured this picture while I'm holding his hand, my eyes tired. I was sixteen in this one.
When I was sixteen I wanted to sleep. Sleep for a morning that would never come.
Tossing all of the stupid pictures in the trash I run to my bathroom and turn the tab on. Rubbing my already clean hands raw under the burning hot water.
I want to get them off— I need to get the dirty feeling off me.
Today, I'm seventeen and all I want is to die. To finally be gone.
„Indie! Get downstairs we're leaving!"
But I can't.
———————————— Hey guys <3
I'm rewriting sunset. It will be darker and go more into dark topics. It will still be focused on Gunnar and Indie and carry the same elements, but the center of the story is different.
