"Bottomless inside a four-walled cold room I lay confided to my bed. Wrapped and tangled within sheets, my eyelids beg to differentiate my sleeping condition. A ray of light escapes the sky and breaks through from one of the shutters. Immersed within my dream I realize my desire to wake up. Deserting the tormented sheets I sit at the corner of the bed examining my pale cold thighs.
I open the bedroom door letting the sunshine flood in. Each ray that betrays the heavenly world taunts me. I invite the rising morning sun to spread shadows of strange images along the south wall. There is movement. Subtle, delicate small movement
Once outside I sit and listen to the wind, advice vibrates through my ears and hair. Something calls, something calls. I notice the rotting grass growing pathetically from the dirt. I get on my hands and knees, digging deep in the sludge of mud and wet grass. I feel naked. I feel alone, gloved in mud, as my eyes wander along the ranges and ranges of empty mountains.
The vastness of space heightens a trapped anxious twitch. Constant repetitive cocking
of my head and neck fuels me to dig deeper into the mud. A deep masculine cry crawls out of my throat. My saliva sprays, catching on the tips of intact grass.
I can feel my nails loosen as the dirt wedges between the fresh skin and keratin proteins. I dig deeper. Let me be the one who twirls on gravity's mistaken trust. Then there is the rush of endorphins. I spin. The mud bubbles beneath me. Now for the dip. I go head first into the muddy grave I dug."
This is an excerpt from a short story I wrote when I was seventeen. Although the rest of the story is unreadable/ unworthy, the first page was never thrown out.
