I Throw myself round in bed, waiting till sleep comes, wanting to forget the terrible look she gave me. I pound my hand into the wall of sheer frustration, trying to break trough, tearing skin of in every stroke. Oh, why can’t blessed sleep come. My mind screams while my body lies whimpering. Why couldn’t she just have given me the money.
Sleep comes, and with sleep nightmares; I’m falling down a shaft not knowing when I’ll hit the end, falling from the white sad face, running from it. I hit the bottom with a thud, and the world becomes agony, an inferno of a thousand needles sticking into my body.
All is pain…
Staggering up on my feet, I look around with eyes that are damned forever. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Nobody listen. With cursed ears I hear the whispering still, a quiet whisper, silent like the dead. I wake bolt upright, run to the toilet and vomit.
I take up a scissor and try to stab myself. Anything to avoid those eyes, cold and lifeless, already glazing over. The scissor stops inches away from the skin, and I realise that even if life is torture you still want to live as long as possible. I throw the scissor out the window. I decide to turn on the television, trying to escape the feeling of guilt and sorrow.