clairesy
The paintbrush skimmed over the canvas, leaving a trail of crimson paint in its wake. It looked like a trail of blood on a pristine, white sheet.
I ran, my sneakers smacking the pavement with each step. My backpack thrashed around on my back and the straps dug into my bare shoulders. All I knew was that I needed to get away. It didn't matter where, it didn't matter how, but I was going to be gone.
It was getting dark. The last rays of the sun were fading from the horizon, and the landscape was becoming an eerie, shadow world.
I pulled the strap of my backpack higher on my shoulder and the rough nylon dug into my clammy skin. I grimaced. The mob of people in front of me surged forward as the doors opened, a mass of colors and skin. Lots of skin. How I hated high school.
But I was back for my final year, and I followed the crowd of drones up the stone steps.
It crept into my mind while I was sleeping, when I wasn't aware enough or strong enough to keep it at bay. Times when I couldn't help but think about all that I'd lost, the despair that at times was so sharp, so sudden, that it became hard to breathe. It was like a sickness that flowed through my veins.
His fingers skimmed over her skin, lingering on the faint ridges that were her ribs.
"You're beautiful," he whispered against the skin of her throat, and a ripple of movement flashed up her back.
"I love you," she said, fingers wrapping around his hand, pulling it away from the bones of her chest.
The woman's screams ran up and down the walls of the hallway, as the sweating husband paced up and down, up and down. He was chewing on his thumb, the skin peeled back and ragged. Nurse bustled back and forth, the doors opening and closing as they shouldered through them. They wouldn't tell him anything. Nothing. So he waited.
My fingers raked through the thick grass, fingertips skimming over dirt and rocks, searching. I found a clump of clover, carefully parted them, looking for my luck. The sun was setting, so I had to squint, glasses slipping down my nose as I searched. I didn't have much time.
As I screamed, the smoke filled my lungs, turning the smooth, shrill noise into a coughing, desperate whimpering that was lost in the roar of the fire on the other side of the door. Staying here meant suffocation, and breaking through the deadbolt meant fire wrapping itself around my limb and burning me alive.