Advertise Here
Want to advertise here? Get started for as little as $5
Facing reality

Facing reality

A Chapter by Rose Quinn

A girl faces herself in the mirror


Reality After Him

Chapter 1

Nothing, I see nothing. The darkness appearing to devour any possibility of a glow. An abyss. My stomach is tight, slightly aching. My chest is pulling in and I can barely gasp in the freezing air. Clammy, smooth arms hug around my naked, shaking legs. Nails dig into the sides of my knees. Drenched in red, black hair hangs down my back and touches the smooth, frigid ground. The chilling wet strands brush my white bare back, chills run up my spine, my entire being spasms. The cold under and around me never ends. I hide my face, tucked behind my knees, I can’t stand the thought of looking up, what will I face. They’re glaring at me. The disapproval I’m used to, but it still bores holes into my tainted soul. Never good enough, unlovable, forever alone and I hide. Keeping secrets and shielding myself from the consequences of truth.  He’s lurking in front of me, ready to demand my next move. I feel the ripped flesh jammed under my black, sharp nails and the wet crimson my hands have been bathed in. The smell of metallic is overwhelming. Hearing the crackling, stunning laugh… entertained. My neck, stiff, jolts up in pain. My breath becomes visible, forming clouds and I breathe heavily unable to catch my breath. A being sits within a foot of me. Black and thick crimson run from its sunken eyes, drips, staining the face as if a murder scene. lips the same intense color, in a permanent smile…cut onto the face. Blood, once warm, now freezing. Blood everywhere. The horrifying laughter, it won’t stop. The result of broken skin, it covers it’s snow white canvas, delicate face and small, fragile body. The floor under it freezing and wet with thick crimson…Its not him…it’s a terrified child, broken innocence and vulnerable to the harsh terrifying world…I face myself, a mirror. I can’t breathe, I’m hyperventilating. I look straight into my eyes…Completely and fully black, not a glimpse of hopeful light. The laughter, the exciting, yet daunting laughter. I want to scream and can’t. Then my eyes fly wide open.

The delicate music of my alarm rings in my ears. I can hardly make out the textured ceiling through the darkness surrounding me as well as my dark red hair clinging to my face. It feels as if my dark brown eyes are going to shoot out of my head. A halo of aching pain surrounding my head with the occasional stabbing sensation. I turn to my right side, facing the plastic drawers I use as a night stand. My stomach endures waves of pain that seem to push up my throat asking for vomit to cover the floor. I turn off the alarm on my touch phone, glancing at the time. The screen shines bright into my eyes, unable to see the screen. My eyes adjust and I see It’s seven in the morning, time to get ready to face my first hell of the day, getting up and ready.

My dry hand, without thought, reaches for the cold glass pipe on my set of drawers, covered in a swirls of rainbow, that sits…waiting for my next hit. My only obstacle being my long black nails. With my other hand I slowly pick up the plastic container of green from the top drawer, setting the pipe on my knee, the bowl up right. I take a nug out of the of the bag that sits within a pill bottle that sits within an old, plastic ice cream container that has been sprayed with perfume. I pack the bowl. I close the bag of green and tuck it back into its place, closing all containers. I snag the bright red box from the top of the drawers that reads, “poison, do not open.” I open it to find my simple red lighter that rests next to three cigarettes. Feeling the cool glass of the pipe beneath my fingertips, I raise it to my mouth, finger over the carb and light. My first hit of the day…the same beginning of every day. Something to calm my nerves and keep me from having an anxiety attack. The pills don’t seem to work much anymore; it simply became too much. Slowly, with my mind somewhere other than the present, I finish off the bowl. I take in the world through new eyes, blood shot. I put everything back in its place. The world appears as a beautiful place that I float upon, beauty found in unexpected places and things. I’m invincibly happy. My body in a way numb and my mind drifts freely without pauses. No worries. I stand and attempt to make myself look half decent or like I haven’t been partying all night. Throwing my hair up in a messy bun, deodorant, cloths that I wore the night before, eye drops to combat the redness and soaking myself in perfume in order to drown the smell of weed, alcohol and sex. The same thoughts of everyday run through my worrying mind. Don’t get caught, act normal and okay. Do what you need to do to make it through.

 Its cold, an empty house with a bed and plastic drawers in one room. Abandoned, alike to the young broken girl within. The front door is about ten feet away. The window is on the same wall. My bed is against the left wall in the corner. The plastic drawers sit next to it. The only pieces of furniture in the house. Everything in the kitchen opens after its been closed. A ghost or simply kids coming and opening them up again. I really don’t care enough to stay away. This was my safe place. Somewhere to sleep that my face wouldn’t get drawn on if I so happened to pass out with my shoes on. A place to go after I was done playing. Alphonso’s house was a place of freedom. Drugs, alcohol sex around every corner. No one to tell you no and no limits as long as you weren’t too loud and no one snitched causing panic and fear of the cops coming.

I partied there as often as I could, telling my mom that I was sleeping over at Nicole’s house. I’d get drunk, high and its surprising I haven’t gotten pregnant. These parties were also the only place I could see Grayson; this twenty-one-year-old guy I’ve been considering dating. He’s four years older than me. I met him on Facebook, a classic no-no for teenage girls. I can say that he isn’t like that and he seems like a good guy, but that is what they all say. He had started liking my stuff, was a friend’s friend, had gone to my high school and appeared to have similar opinions and interests. We first met when I invited him to meet at the seven eleven parking lot that was connected to Wendy’s, one of the few places to hang out in Heber and it was mostly full of red necks.

Heber, the tiny town I don’t call home, but have had to live in for the past year or so. It’s far from a place to call home, more like a mini hell full of red necks, wanna be punks along with laughable gangsters and police watching our every move.

Its seven thirty and I told my mom I’d be home by twelve, I desperately want to be home, but showing up to soon will appear odd and questions will be asked. I check that I have all of my things in my Nightmare Before Christmas purse. Pipe, check, green, check, phone, check, charger, check, perfume, check and wallet, check. The weed sits in a baggy tightly wound within the pill bottle within the small plastic ice cream container. I spray perfume within the container to keep away the smell. I grab my keys off of the plastic drawers and head to the right of the front of the house, turning right to the hall then going straight through the kitchen and going to the left to reach the garage door. Before leaving I glance at the kitchen, the drawers, oven and cabinets…all open. I had closed them last night…or did I. I continue out to the garage turn right to the broke down door into the backyard. I go to the gate on the right of the house and head towards my red piece of s**t car. An Oldsmobile, 2001 Alero.

The passenger window doesn’t open the driver’s window is off its rail and shoved back into its place…somewhat. The windshield is cracked, the rear view mirror is missing and the right mirror is gone as well. To top it all of the inside of the passenger door fell off and now sits in my trunk. The driver’s seat sits close to the wheel so that my small feet can reach the pedals. Time to drive to Nicole’s, my way of touching back to reality and giving me time to center before going home. 

© 2016 Rose Quinn

Author's Note

Rose Quinn
Any advice wanted

My Review

Would you like to review this Chapter?
Login | Register


I really liked it!
I have yet to be able to achieve a short story yet.
I write poetry.
But, I really admire those who pull off an actual story.
Good job!
Resa. :)

Posted 2 Years Ago

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


1 Review
Shelved in 4 Libraries
Added on December 12, 2016
Last Updated on December 13, 2016