Too Much Paint

Way After

I lay on the ground , drifting in and out of consciousness. Tears of bitterness stung my eyes as I remembered what had occurred weeks ago. I sat up slowly , careful not to let my injured arm and head ache even more. My arm looked blue , my skin hard and cold as I scratched my arm to relieve myself from the itchiness that had come suddenly from where I lay. The bandages on my head looked dirty as I stared at the broken glass shards from the window at my weak attempt of escape. The light magnified my pain as my eyes reflected their dullness back to the image.

They would surely pay.

My mind wondered at how it had gotten to all this... Was I to blame for my upbringing? Was it my fault that I  thought what my family told me to do was right? I was just 9. Maybe I could have thought seriously on how different my family and their traditions were compared to your average quilet family. I am one person who hates comparisons and I know I accept things the way they turn out. Its in my deep nature but I cannot seem to take the aspect of revenge of my mind. How much have I changed through this experience ? I tried my level best to commit to silence as I was told. Just in what way were they able to dig into my deadly sins? Just how? Could I blame him or the both of them ? I had clearly seen the shock and anguish in their eyes as they saw me out. It could not have been them. It just couldn't..

I remembered being caught so off guard that I became speechless for a few days. Maybe around three o'clock in the evening when the police had come. I at first , had thought they were for something else ( just like the rest had also thought ) , maybe they were here for Hillery , since Mike was one of them. But he was in uniform? Maybe he was just from duty? Hillery was about to greet him when Mike gave me a sharp look in the eye that made me squirm and shift uncomfortably. " Your coming with us " he said in a dark tone , his eyes never leaving mine. I was shocked. I don't remember how I got into the car or how I ended up in this room , but I know I had struggled. I know I had resisted and screamed as everyone just stood there, eyes blank or with sudden grief and pity that I hated it. I hated that experience. My stomach turned as I realized what was happening. Could they have helped me ? " Hill , Baby , tell them to leave me alone..." I whispered to myself as I recalled what I had told him. "Tell Mike to get off of me!! " "Please.."

I had been pulling and crying and screaming my way out of this sad melody of this white room. It was dull and the door was an old wooden one. I thought I could easily break it. Though one problem was that I was not sure if this room was soundproof. I may be heard, or maybe it is them that are ignoring my shouts .  It would be lovely if none of them were there but that was almost not possible. I prayed that no guard was securing my room... I didn't think of myself as that kind of a criminal. My clothes seemed to tighten as my voice suddenly lost its power.

I reeked of sweat. My breathing laboured on as I struggled to not study how stuffy the room felt. The windows were made of glass which I could easily break. How wrong I was. I managed to break less than half of it. What kind of material was this? When the men had left , I remembered hearing the squeak of the rusted door as it held onto its hinges weakly. It was my other means of escape. Since the windows barely gave me any motivation on getting out , the only way was through that door. That's how I spent the night , clawing my arms and scraping the wood out of it. My eyes fluttered as I remembered all this details of how I ended up on the floor with noodle arms and a broken glass.

My thoughts were disrupted by the door. I had almost been successful ! Turns out the door had bars on the outside. The bars that separated me from the outside world. It seemed like my plan B had been a success but those ugly bars of metal just had to increase my level of pain. I groaned in pain and agony , dizziness' bizarre hand clinging to my neck as I managed to get on my two left feet. I was dancing. The room kept changing colours as I felt the walls push between me. I was not a very good dancer as I felt myself land onto the floor I now was very familiar with once again. God , kill me.