《Corona (The story of a small life in a big universe)》Seven
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I lay in bed, trying- and failing- to go to sleep. My arm itched underneath my cast and I ached to scratch it. If only my nails could reach it... I would certainly scratch off my arm.
My chest was sore. My ribs kept hurting, they wouldn't stop hurting, would they ever heal?
My leg ached so badly.
I was a mess.
Not even a hot mess.
Vince hadn't been looking at me today.
He couldn't have been.
I was no one special. I didn't want to be special.
I was just a little girl.
An injured, hurting, little girl, who wanted to tell someone but couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't feel enough to talk. A little girl who wanted to sleep but was blinded by the tears that streamed down her temples and was struck with the pain of trying to remember something... something of how she felt before all the awful in her life happened- something of how she used to feel when she was an innocent child, untouched by the cruel world and the cruel ways of it.
Why me?
Why Nolan?
Why Grandmother?
Why am I like this?
Why did this happen to me-to us? Nothing at all was going right. Everything just kept going down and down and down and I was drowning drowning drowning and the world was dark and lonely and dark and cruel and I was all alone and could tell no one and everything was black and grey and cold and freezing and stifling and burning and
WHY ME?
WHY AM I LIKE THIS?
PLEASE!
SOMEONE, HELP
please.
someone.
Sighing, I rolled onto my side and let my tears soak onto my pillow. I sank into a troubled sleep.
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