wallflowers { rabbit x wilma } ali
Aug 3, 2014 7:34:31 GMT -5
Post by k!ah on Aug 3, 2014 7:34:31 GMT -5
I don’t lay on the tiles on that walkway today, I lay else where, my fingers playing with the carpet that was my cushion. The roof is not filled with light today, only small bursts of light flickering in and out of my view as I swayed my head from side to side. I don't know why I do this, I just do, my neck aching from the continuos movement. But I don't tsp because I like to watch the lights, I like to feel the carpet. It was different, different from the sheet of light and cold white floor.
The nurses wouldn't come today. They wouldn't pick me off the floor like an empty paper bag because in the place where I lay now it was okay. They said that not many people actually used this room, usually just that girl who was as quiet as a mouse, the one who liked to stare out the window into the world outside, not even a whisper of a word escaping her lips. I haven't exactly met her yet. I have seen her, her eyes almost glazed over a nurse running her comb through the girls almost white hair. Hair which was very pretty, almost as white as the lights and the tiles which surrounded us when we exited this ward and entered a new one. I often wan ere what it would be like to compare the contrast of the girls silvery hair to the lights.
Now I lay beside her chair.
She doesn't say a word.
But neither do I because I am not one for words.
So, instead, I begin to hum, the low sound was different from the humming of a machine, it was gentle and soothing and musical, making the silence which hung around us like a thick layer os smoke, thin slightly. I open my moth and the hum turns into a low melody, my vocal cords producing a sound which would make even the loudest babies cries melt away into quiet snores. People have often told me that my voice felt like the touch of an angel, that is was beautiful. One ay it even brought tears to the eyes of that sweet nurse, that one with the soft smile, like a newly born kittens fur.
No words are mingled with the sound that escapes my lips. No words created the mood or told the story because I never used words, I relied on the sounds that I could create, I relied on the way I could dip my voice, or make it climb high, high into the sky.
Slowly I begin to sit off, the gentle sound of my voice sliding away into silence. I look at the gel with my amber eyes, tucking a strand of my dark hair behind my ear gently. I climb to my feet and stand behind the girl, like I had seen the nurse do, and run my fingers through her hair of silver. “Its very pretty.” I watch as the locks slide over my skin and between the gaps in my lingers like the brushes of a comb. “So white, like an angel.”
