Heyo Bookaholics.

Welcome back to another storytime. This one isn’t as dark as the other one but deals with intense emotions that may be many can relate to. I hope you enjoy x

Burning Anger

She tastes her bile in her throat. The vile bitter taste of it making her face scrunch up in disgust, swallowing back down the urge to vomit felt like effort wasted.

A burning flower blooming in her chest begging to be extinguished. The heat flushing her face, her ears, nose; causing her temperature to rise and a dizzying feeling to set in behind her eyes. In her rage, she paused, calming enough to asses the extremity of that relentless pounding inside her head, remembering the vile taste of bile in her mouth and the constant burning heat all over, rising outwards from her chest.

As suddenly as she was able to pause it, her anger returned crushing over her like a wave. The pounding in her head burst into a thundering pain, and stars exploded in front of her eyes as negative thoughts filled her mind, and once again she began spiralling.

She lifts her hand, barely hesitating for a second knowing the damage of what is to be done; of what she has wanted to do in all her moments of rage before this one, and swipes her hand along the dresser top.

The noise echoes throughout the house, as the ornaments and trinkets fall to the floor with a loud crash, clatter, and ting, ting of the smaller more delicate items as they skitter across the floor.

With every collision. With every crack that formed, she smiled the burning in her chest cooling to an icy chill, a pain that felt less like a relief and more like salt to an open wound; and as she stood, watching pieces skitter across the floor, her heart pounding in her hears and those stars still spotting her vision, she began to fully process the damage she’d just caused. The mess she must soon clean.

In.Pause. Out. Pause.

In. Pause. Out. Pause.

Her breaths filled her lungs before she released them, holding each until she felt she could no more.
She just stared furiously at the mess she had made. Angry at her decision. Angry at herself. ANGRY AT THE WORLD!

It was then she snapped; screaming a deep, guttural scream that came from some deep hurt part inside of her. The part that was burning. The part that she believed would no longer feel happiness. She crouched down into a squat, avoiding all the shattered pieces of her possessions now strewn across the floor; all her possessions and memories replicating how they appeared inside her broken mind, and there she sat, as broken as the pieces on the floor; her only logical thought was to clean.

Clean up her mess. The mess she had made of her room and of herself.

Once cleaning she could allow herself to grieve the lost possessions, convince herself she didn’t need them anyway; that holding on to sentiments meant nothing, when the memories attached are so jarring to behold. Until then, she would think of nothing; not even the bad thoughts could hurt her more than she has already hurt herself.