Unfinished

I started writing this today with the idea that an end would manifest as I wrote. It didn’t, but I didn't want it to be another waste of time, so here it is. If you take the time to read it, tell me where it can go. Give me a goal for an otherwise pointless day.

I shielded my tired eyes from the blinding reflection of the sun on the white walls. This room felt sterile, the floor coated in a cream coloured laminate flooring and the walls bare. I stood and wondered why there was a lack of furniture as I rubbed at my eyes, which were sore with the longing to close and give in to the release of sleep. A film of tears blurred my sight for a second and made me feel dizzy. I wanted to leave this room; it all seemed too pure for a soul that could only be described as corrupted. It seemed too pure for me and my body, which showed the scars and tell tale signs of abuse from a past riddled with sin. I fished my chubby fingers into my bra and scrambled for the familiar shape of the lighter I kept there, secret and safe next to the warmth of my bare breasts. My other hand slipped a shop bought fag from my bag and brought it to my chapped lips, which hugged the filter tightly as I lit the other end.

I inhaled sharply.

The first drag tasted stale in my dry mouth and made me feel sick. Why did I do that, I revelled in these things that made me feel crap. I hated fucking fags; they tasted like shit and made me feel dizzy. I smoked to be defiant, a persistent defiance that shone through in all aspects of my life and had made me a fuck up. I didn’t even know who I was defying: society, my parents, my safe boyfriend or maybe just my own body. I didn’t care who, I just needed to feel like I was in control.

    I turned towards the door and inhaled once again. I didn’t know who I was looking for; I didn’t even know where I was. I just knew that I hadn’t slept and I was hurting. It wasn’t a physical kind of pain, although my head pounded, but more of an inner pain. A hurt soul, heart ache maybe…