Photo by Ben Blennerhassett on Unsplash

Lesson learned

“In time, this too shall pass,” a lovely and hopeful quotation framed and hung on the wall, “Trust, the most expensive thing in the world is trust, It can take years to gain and only seconds to lose.” This was the insightful wall. Filled with many beautiful quotations, quotes that are lessons to her, and when she learns them, they are printed, framed, and hung. Nobody knows where they come from; she never looks for anything; instead, she goes to the computer and prints blank pages, which become something when the printer releases them.

Her sapphire eyes are glassy, blank, there’s no emotion on her face, her eyes tell no tale, convey no suffering, her petite pale form scarcely moves an inch, her short blonde hair scruffily tied back, you’d have to look very close to detect the slight movement that shows her breathing. To the outside world, she appears calm, serene, and at ease. Her tear-stained cheeks, though, are visible upon closer inspection.

She’s lost to everyone around her, no matter how hard they try to reach her. She’s shut down, closed in, stuck in her mind, her personalised prison, a place she created when she was young, a place where nothing can hurt or touch her, outwardly, void of all emotion and colour, she’s safe, or so they believe. However, her security comes with a hefty price. Every time she utilizes her gift, a little part of her dies on the inside. Although it’s done as a coping mechanism when something goes awry or gets out of hand, it’s frustrating to everyone around her, since she’s unreachable in this state, and no one can enquire what’s wrong? What happened? Who was responsible for this? These are the questions that are racing through the minds of the group. They are concerned, which is understandable, given that this sort of complete shutdown has only occurred a few times. They were unaware of any current incidents, and it had been several years since they had to handle something similar.

They never truly know what happens to her when she’s inside, partially because she declines to answer, and partly because they’re terrified of the answer. Days like today were often referred to as “dark days,” and you could practically feel a chill in the air.
All they could do was pace back and forth, anticipating her return. The room is silent, save for the odd shifting and tapping of impatience.
She’s been gone for far too long, and the air is thick with dread.

Within her head, her jail, the walls are drab, and the chamber is desolate. The shadows reach out and grab at her soul as she sits on her knees in the centre of the room. She covers her ears to attempt to muffle the screams, blood pools in her fingertips. She can’t stand it anymore, her skull fragmenting. The monsters want to play, she begs them to leave, her demons are dragging her down, and they aren’t finished with her yet. Her internal battles, a war she’s lost way too many times, don’t show on her face to her friends.

Time moving at a snail’s pace, tick, tick, tick…

Blink, she blinks again, she’s emerging, breaking herself from her shackles, stretching her limbs. She says nothing, she stands up and proceeds to her printer, where she picks a handful of frames that are hung to the wall one by one.
They read each new lesson to grasp it adequately.

“Never put your trust in someone who lies to you, never deceive someone who has put their trust in you.”

“Stab the body, and the wound heals; stab the heart, and the wound lasts a lifetime.”

“Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.”

Her friends know better than to inquire, for she will never divulge, not to a single person, “what, why, or how”, because she is not one to share misfortune or grief.
She despises the art of gossip.



Mum of a small baby, writer & artist enthusiast. fluent in sarcasm. I use too many hashtags, emojis & gifs. One day I will be that mum who embarrasses her child

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Mum of a small baby, writer & artist enthusiast. fluent in sarcasm. I use too many hashtags, emojis & gifs. One day I will be that mum who embarrasses her child