I stared at the white spoon, which was no longer a spoon, for I had snapped the "spoon" part off of it, and it screamed back at me. It rested heavy in my shaking hand. My body was a war of emotions, fear and anger and logic ran at each other head on, clashing swords and decapitating the enemy in order to conquer my control of myself, but my mind was drawn blank from indecision. My cold fingers enclosed the piece of plastic, suffocating it in a bubble of my sweat, opened it to let it breathe, and closed again, ensuring that it would never again wake.
My eyes closed shut as I tightened my grip on the "spoon." I could soon hear my heart beat inside my chest, growing faster and faster as fear shot an arrow through logic's skull. Thump. Thump. Thump. Like a crescendo of bodies dropping. Blood surged through my veins so hard it made my hands tremble.
I opened my eyes to the dim light of my bedroom, and though I was conscious I could not command dominance over my body, I just watched as my emotions pulled the strings sewn into my skin like a puppet. They turned the broken part of the plastic towards the top of my forearm and began to scratch at my flesh to kill the rash of suffering that devoured me. They moved back and forth in a vicious never ending cycle of regret. Beneath the object was a thick streak of pink that hurt like Hell, but the pain was neglected because the messenger to my brain had a dagger in his heart. Maybe I was crying, I don't remember. All I recall was watching myself from another being, trying desperately to end this disgraceful thing I was doing. I guess I didn't try hard enough. Or maybe I just did not truthfully care enough.
Finally my hand stopped moving. My breathing escalated and it wasn't until this point that I had realized that I still wasn't bleeding. I felt a wave of insufficiency within me, a hole in my stomach that needed to be filled. They weren't done yet.
I began to remember. I remembered my friends, my entire life that was stripped from me. I remembered being thrown into a new school crowded with faceless beings. They yanked my strings and slashed my arm in anger. I ignored the burning sensation it left behind. This time, I know I was crying. I remembered him. Slash. I remembered how he smiled at me, how he made me feel important to him. I remembered how I'm always his last choice. Slash. I remembered the numbness. Slash. I remembered hearing the giggles behind me. Slash. Their "quiet" remarks. Slash. The emptiness. Slash. The loneliness.
