Blood on my hands

Impenetrable, insurmountable, unyielding was the wall she screamed and throbbed against. She was screaming her soul from the physical, but nobody seemed to notice her. She was beating her fists sore, but nothing happened.

She was trapped in this endless room of her memories, trying to escape. But the walls got closer, were beginning to constrict her. Fear spread from deep inside her, laid like a veil over her mind.

But then, just an instant later, her blurry vision got clear, crystal clear, like everything around her was frozen. Maybe it was because of the mixture of fear and adrenaline, but maybe it was hope too. She didn’t know.

She summoned up her whole strength, forcing herself to lead it all to this one point, those few seconds. She tried to push the walls away from her, to restrain herself from all those memories that were leading her astray. She felt how the walls she was leaning against got thinner. She wasn’t sure if this was just imagination or reality, but it wasn’t like she had time to think about this, because the walls were moving off again. The ice thawed. Panic was outspreading inside her, haunted by the thought if this whole situation was even real.

She knew that something about this place was really odd; she didn’t even know how she got here.

Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate just on this place, on the raw walls under her hands, whose structure got more indefinable every second she was thinking about them. And with every second going by, the thought of this place might not being real, increased in her mind.

Then it hit her. This place wasn’t real, no, it couldn’t be real. It’s breaking every several physical rule there is. What on the other hand means that it couldn’t even exist. And if it couldn’t exist, she must find a way out of here. She had to.

Driven of this sole thought, she started imagining that the walls under her hands weren’t made of rough stone, but of fragile glass. If this place wasn’t real, it had to be her imagination or the imagination of someone else, hadn’t it? And if she was the only person in here, she ought to be the only person to change this place, isn’t she?

She repeated it like a mantra.

She concentrated completely on how glass looks like when she touches it, how it feels under her fingers, how it looks when she is pushing it away from her. How it cracks under her fingers until it splatters into pieces, falling on the ground, finally shattering into thousands of pieces, each one unique, glittering. But she knew she should beware herself of falling for this beauty, because it’s deceitful. She had fallen once, she wouldn’t be this frail to make the same mistake again.

She would withstand.

Diverted by the amount of thoughts crossing her mind, she didn’t even notice that her hands were colored red from all the blood on them. Shards of glass were drilled into her palms, but she didn’t feel any pain. Her world turned darker until everything around her was wrapped in unbounded darkness.

She woke. Her hands were bleeding. It was like pieces of shattered glass had drilled themselves into her palms.