Misery

Misery
By Midnight Angel

The girl sits quietly in a dark corner.
The damp dank spance is adorned in the black silk of the night. Slowly she recedes into a dark crevice. Scooting back as far as she can manage to seek solace among the demons that hiss her name with every breath she takes. She makes no movements. She sits still and stoic as if she were a part of the night. Blending in so that she may not be noticed.

Her pale lips move in a silent prayer that makes the casual passerby give her a quick and queer glance. Rushing past her crouching form as if they fear that an icy hand may slip out to grasp them. Their eyes belie their hurried steps and half smiles that curl stiff lips. Noses wrinkle in disgust with the odoriferous scent that surrounds her scruffy form. They are careful not to get too close to this wayward being.

She curls her hands together in tight little fists as if with this simple act she could fight back the urge to strike out against the self righteous people. She was one of them once upon a time.

A stray cat dares to tarry at her foot, perhaps finding in her a kindred spirit. Yet the stray scurries off, skirting the swarthy aura emitted in her lifeless body. A billowing wave of cold air rushes forth to hurry the cat along with a shrieking warning. “Stay away.” It whispers to the keen ears of the feline.

Her pale ivory skin is frigid and translucent. It seemingly glows among the shadows. A death glow some might say. And yet others hesitate to conclude. The somber shadows match her mood and they cling to her bones like damp fabric heavily laden with rain.

Two knobby knees are scrunched up beneath her chin to offer her a perch for a head that thinks too much and offers little comfort. Dark coarse strands of hair frame her sallow face. The stringy tendrils lack the health and luster that once allowed her hair to flow around her in a golden halo. For she has long since lacked the care needed to live for oneself.

She tries her best not to think. Silent tears escape tightly shut eyes with the strain it takes not to raise her voice to scream. She slowly looks up with large almond-shaped eyes. The lump in her throat aches and constricts when she attempts to swallow. Those eyes. They cry with or without her tears.

Her amber depths are seemingly larger than usual due to the hollowness of her cheeks. Those cheeks, much like those eyes hold one prisoner tainted with the gray hue of distraught. One wonders if this girl were to lay her head down; would she drown in her own misery? Would her sorrow take her life in a pool of tears?

Alas, she seems listless. And yet her amber depths tell a story. She used to hide behind a mask of strength that she held up for everyone else. But when she cast it aside, when she stepped from her cloak of happiness, there she was. Cold . . . alone . . . and residing in the shadows, she snarls softly to those who dare to judge her.

She is a fighter ready for her last battle. Weariness weighs heavy upon her heart. She fears looking into the mirror, she is afraid of who may look back at her. Perhaps her worst enemy, the darkness that always lurks beneath the light . . . herself.

She has given up. She feels defeated within her own right. She curls her arms around herself, shrugging off the battle she no longer wishes to wage. She carefully hides the red angry marks that adorn her inner arms. The marks that she inflicts upon herself for every time she has had to bite back the pain.

Leaning forward, she leers at an invisible foe. A dark husky tone expels her words, “Bad little girls are punished.” She sits back into the shadows with a light evil chuckle. To keep up the facade, to maintain the slip of sanity she clings to, and to live through the pain she has become one with the darkness.

Never flinching nor rising to run, her eyes glow with the doom filled reflection of the rising sun. Jagged fingernails rake and curl into her tender skin, reminding herself over and over again of her sin. She scrambles to stand upon weak legs and raises her forearm to block the light of dawn.

She turns toward the black alley and trudges back into her past. A stray tear trickles down the sickening curve of her once beautiful face. She turns her back on the bright future that looms within her grasp. Trudging forth into the shadows from whence she came. The walls she once carefully constructed now crumble in the wake of her steps. She mourns the life that never will be and cries for her soul to be set free. This slip of a girl, the sweetheart of your nightmares, the damsel of distress disappears as quietly as she appeared. Was she ever here?