Letter to My Former Self ||Bakushima||

//1// Living Inside My Worst Nightmare

      Remaining on the floor, leaning my back against the wall. The wall that belonged to this empty house I grew up in all my life. My mother loved this place, but all that was here for me were the walls that I loathed. The ones that carried those distasteful memories of my early childhood.
   I couldn't go anywhere anymore without feeling trapped in those moments. The moments of agony and misery that lived in my distant past, yet stuck to me like nectar.
   I shook my head, trying to wake myself up, but didn't. This feels far too real.
       I felt the shadowed hands emerge from the wall. The same hands that abused me for years, the same hands that don't remember. The hands grip onto my body, pulling me to the wall. I struggle but it's no use.
      These hands are imprinted on my skin in the form of bruises, burns, cuts, and scars. They follow me wherever I go.
       My breaths get shorter and faster. My lungs, not able to take in enough air as I panic trying to escape the hands that did so much damage to me. The hands that forgot.
       The hands that forgot I haven't been a kid since I was five. I was six, yet I was sixteen. I'm eighteen, yet I'm eighty. I'm a child, but I'm not.
       "You forgot." The hands pull further into the walls. "How could you forget?" I'm screaming. "You killed me, and you forgot!"

       The walls are soon a mattress. I'm in my dorm.
       I swallow hard as the nightmare plays above me like a cartoon bubble. I can't move. My breathing is unsteady and hitched.
       Panic soon turns into hatred as I remember my words, "you forgot." She forgot. Fifteen years of abuse, and she somehow managed to forget everything. Although I guess that's my fault. After all, I'm the one who got her in that accident.
       My face is painted with dry tears, crusting in the corners of my eyes. I sit up, rubbing my face awake. Tomorrow is Saturday. I have to pay her a visit, but for now, I need to take a walk.