Numb&Dumb

The girl was numb. She was dumb. She walked around day by day, her dull eyes seeing everything at once while not seeing anything at all. Her eyes were dead. The pupils were large, the color a green-brown. They had a sparkle, but nonetheless they were eyes that belonged to a corpse. Her mouth formed fewer then ten words a day. Her pale pink chapped lips remained shut, as if someone has glued them when she was an infant. When she did speak, no one heard. That was how it was. No one ever noticed this girl. She’d go day by day, month by month, not once leaving even the slightest imprint on some stranger’s mind. It was as if every morning she clothed herself in an invisibility cloak that worked all too well. Her skin was pale, almost as white as a sheet of paper. The few hands who dared touch her were always shocked at how cold she was. Her cold skin grew tight around her tired bones, bones that cracked and popped as she walked. It was the only thing that could grab someone’s attention for the slightest moment, as they would find it odd that a girl so young could seem so old. 
The girl was constantly scolded at. When her mother was home, her sharp, scissor-like tongue would lash out at her. “No no no,” she’d chide, “you’re doing it wrong again. You need to do it like this. What’s wrong with you? Act normal for Christ’s sake.” The girl was used to this. She could not feel the sting of her mothers’ words anymore. Her brain had already been shut out, steel doors slammed tightly together around her head. She could not feel anything anymore. She had numbed herself. That was how she liked it. 
The scars stretched boldly across her skin, shameless. Fearless. They tried to reveal her secrets that she kept so well. She didn’t mind. She knew no one would bat an eyelash at them. No one looked at her long enough to tell what was there. No one cared about her. She didn’t know if that bothered her or not. 
She quickly grew tired of her monotonous, manic life. Every morning was a battle of trying to stay out of this terrible blue. Some days the blue swallowed her up, kept her down, like a ferocious, terrible ocean. She hated blue days. They were the days she added more scars to the growing collection on her body. Other days she was grey, not blue, not white. Just grey. Those were the days of complete numbness. When she was white, she was happy. A manic happy. She’d start smiling in class, her mind wandering. And when she was white at home she’d start laughing. Laughing laughing laughing. Uncontrollable laughter. She’s laugh and smile till her muscles grew weak and her lungs were screaming for air. White days were her favorite. The only problem with them, she knew, was that they only lasted for a few hours. What follows immediately after is blue. 
One days she grew tired of this. She felt sick. Sick of numbness, sick of being dumb, sick of no one caring. She was in a state of blue-grey. She couldn’t feel a thing. So she grabbed her old friend, the steel blade she kept in a little wooden box on her desk. She told the blade to dig a little deeper this time. “Chew a little harder, blade,” she’d say, “the voices are especially bad today”. And they were. They were screaming, incessantly, about the truths she refused to acknowledge. She kept those truths in the pit of her belly, where all the bad things went. Occasionally they’d start stirring up, making her sick. So sick she’d be bent over a toilet for an entire night. This night she did not feel sick. She was simply tired. The blade chewed and chewed, getting deeper and deeper. Eventually she was not blue, nor grey, not even blue-grey, but white. Everything was white. She looked down and realized she was soaked in blood. The tan carpet her mother scolded about cleaning so often was stained a beautiful crimson red. The girl smiled. The uncontrollable laughter mixed with the dark pit of her belly, and she started laughing and laughing and laughing. Everything was white again. She died peacefully. She died with a wicked Cheshire cat-grin. She was free. 
Those corpse eyes that never belonged on her live body, now felt at home.