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Short Scenes

By @Drulicious

Release Me

Release me. It floated and hung in the air for seconds before it disappeared as quietly as someone’s last breath. You turn the nob on the sink and shift towards the sound hoping for an echo, but all you get is the metallic sting as water drops from your faucet. You feel fear grasp wildly at your heart like jagged keys tearing through paper and fain interest in your dirty cuticles to calm yourself. You breathe and hear it again, release me, sounding as if it’s a whisper in the wind. Circling you and rising from the soles of your feet up to your brain and out your ears. It consumes you and freezes you and suddenly it’s gone. Leaving nothing but a memory and the dull ache of anxiety. You fiddle with your fingers again listening to the dull scratch they make as one nail skates across the other. After a moment of contemplation you lower your hands and walk out of the kitchen, leaving behind a soft scratching sound and the blinding phosphorescent light reflected on white plastic.

You become paranoid. The wind whispers your name. The couch screeches help every time you lower yourself into its musty depths. Sometimes you find yourself reaching for your shoes, your feet itching to run away, but in your head you know have nowhere to run. You continue about your business around the house, walking from room to room in silence. You hear the sounds and pretend that they aren’t there. That they are all in your imagination. That you’re hearing things that really aren’t there.  

Release me. The word is said so softly and yet it bellows out into the world, engulfing those near in its cloud of despair. Release me. She repeats the word audibly, though no one can detect any movement of her mouth. She continues to shuffle around the house with her dirty, uncut nails scraping across every surface she passes. It causes a constant dull squeal that mingles with her slow shuffling feet to create a soft cacophony of anguish. She continues her aimless shuffle around the house, searching for the source of her sorrow. Unaware that what she is searching for is herself. 

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