Monochromatic Dye A Short Story About A Girl Trapped In Depression.

878 words - 4 pages

Her footsteps anxiously entered the dark room, escaping from the echoing shouts travelling along the whitewashed walls of the corridor. The door slammed, and for a moment a thick blanket of silence covered the room, stifling any traces of noise and movement. Then, a faint buzz was heard, as she flicked the light switch, followed by a dim light, destroying the restricting blanket. The black walls of her room seemed to devour her pale skin as she collapsed on the bed in a fit of tears.Her thick, black hair tumbled around her face, hiding the droplets of anguish running unhindered from her eyes, creating a network of glistening grey trails upon her cheeks. Above her hung a Marilyn Manson poster, staring into the bleak confinement, the blood red backdrop a burning fire enveloping his being. She lay forgotten in the bitter void of her life, the darkness steadily poisoning her mind, leaving her paralysed in a swirling tornado of misery.The crumpled, white plastic bag that her mum had tossed at her earlier, lay silently on the floor, tempting her to recover it from the black sea. She knew that behind the veil of plastic, was a bright orange box, its vivid colour haunting her soul. The box did not belong here. It belonged to another world, a perfect world of colour and light, a world oblivious to the shadows that haunted her reality, the shadows that constricted her spirit, leaving her unnoticed in her own gloom.The razor sharp words of her parents' dispute echoed through her mind cutting through her flesh. Their featureless faces battling in a storm of hate and anger. They tried. She knew they tried. But trying wasn't enough. It didn't erase the crushing silences, nor the turbulent arguments. It was apathetic to the hot, red tears that flowed now in a continuous stream. They only cared about her unnatural, black hair. She had hoped that it would make them realise - force them to understand or at least, just to acknowledge her pain, and perhaps, she had thought wistfully, it would lead them to accept her for who she really was. Instead, she had exacerbated the storm, with her dyed black hair. She had driven a wedge further between her parents and herself, and as her hair became darker and her skin paler, she became more of a stranger to them and their suburban mentality.She could hear them now. Their voices seeping through the cracks under the door, as she stared at the lone, white bag on her floor. It seemed to glow with hope,...

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