I woke up in a clean bed of clean sheets and messy blankets. Everything was all blue like an ocean. It was early right? I stare at my clock not fully registering its numbers, at least not now. I slowly pulled myself up as my dirty blonde hair falls down my shoulders and back like a waterfall. For a moment I felt a slight pain in my arm.
I simply pushed away from the pain as I always did. I quietly put on a yellow dress that fell to my knees. My knees themselves were covered in small bandages and bruises. So were my arms and legs. I would consistently get hurt to cover my trail. Specific scrapes were more like perfectly lined and planned cuts if you really looked. Sadly, this didn't just cover my tracks. It also covered moms. Each time she sliced or hit me was covered by my own means to cover the slicing I've done. Now I looked like a small child who had been playing a little too much and as I grabbed my bag and broken phone I felt the shame rise in me. The shame has always been there but now as I really see myself in the mirror it's more than there. It's almost like a small spider building a large web out of silk and thread all inside me where it's protected, secure.
I begin to run out of the house and into the morning of loud cars and louder people, and even though I was tired I would walk all fifteen miles to school rather than go to the train station. It was like the tube line in London, with no barriers, and no ways to stop someone from jumping in front of a train. Of course, even then the tube line was clean and near shiny despite all the bloodshed there. If I went I'm sure I would end as another annoyance to a few hundred people. That's how they all felt when someone jumped in front as their lungs filled with the London smoke they call air.
I cough a tiny bit as it becomes hard to breathe again. The city is beautiful to the outside. I can easily see why Big ben spirals to kiss the sky as it makes the noises of a working clock that has begun rusting with time and it makes you wonder. I always wondered who made it work. How big are the cogs and gears in such a clock. Was it the clock causing the smog? I asked this even as I dragged my feet into a school where surely my life won't get better.