When Did She Become This Dirty, Disgraceful Human Being?
Summary: Surviving isn't living when you are in a constant battle with yourself.
When you overcome it, you can finally live with no chains holding you back. Live a life worth living, even if it feels like you should die, don't. There is beauty all around you, you just have to look closely.
The idea that surviving isn't living white you're in a battle with yourself own mind is shown through an unnamed girl who has a deep hatred for herself and everything around her. The world is ruined - she is left alone in an abandoned city with no clear memory of who she was before.
She slowly learns how to live, and how to see the beauty in something so terrible.
Broken. That’s what her life is now. Shattered windows, abandoned cars, rusting pipes. Not even the rising sun, casting a golden blanket over the city, is a blessing anymore. Every scar, every failure, every bitter memory is on display when the sun rises. When did life change so drastically? She can’t remember. Tinted glass blocks her view of faces long gone, unrecognisable and their smiles distorted. Her throat burns with each breath like she’s swallowing shards. The expired drinks and solid food only strengthen the constant ache of hatred and despair.
Stubborn. She refuses to look at mirrors; she can’t bear seeing what she has become – what her dirty, disgraceful body looks like. So she puts herself to work, scavenging stores to find weapons. She perches on a truck, sharpening her knives with a metal plate. Her mind is forced to concentrate, lest she injure herself. Don’t think, don’t feel, don’t cry. Do not die. Each scrape sends sparks flying until she stops, hands red and raw. The blades glint, begging to be used. The sun unapologetically glares into her eyes. She glares back, jaw clenched. When will it be enough for you? She demands an answer, but the sun stays quiet.
Paranoid. Roots strangle buildings. She swears they try to strangle her too. They are steadfast when she is watching, but trail after her when she isn’t. They are waiting for her to stumble, she knows it. Her eyes flicker to every shadow. She walks in the middle of the uprooted street, away from their greedy tendrils. The road is cracked. Concrete chunks lay discarded all over. Annoying obstacles. In broad daylight she is an easy target. Maybe that’s what the tendrils want – an easy meal that can’t move. She looks over her shoulder constantly. Paranoia can save or it can kill slowly; insanity sneaking into your mind. By then you can’t stop it. Succumb to it or die painfully. She’d rather take her chance with plants than an invisible enemy. You enjoy this, don’t you? No reply. Sure– that’s fine. She can deal with it.
This is a snapshot of my original 1.1k word story. You can read the rest on my AO3 (available to read without an account): We_Ghosts_YesYes
