Revenge, Served Cold
She often wished she could feel emotions again. That something besides ennui would break through the hardened skin of her heart and set her blood to pumping. Anything. Even, the smell of late season apples or the green smell of mums as they decay in the face of November would have sufficed. But no, she was trapped inside this sterile place with nothing but antiseptic.
Once she’d held anger in her heart, complete with that luscious twist to her stomach, blood rushing to her face, body rigid. But no more. Raging at her family, at her caretakers, at God, at the world had never seemed enough, until she no longer had even that. When her temper fled all she had left was pain.
It was the pain she inflicted on herself that hurt the worst. The little cuts that added up to larger sores, until the largest of them frightened her and she forced herself to stop. To conserve the last of her flesh.
She would need it if she were ever to get out of here. To revisit the sins back on her loving family and friends that had left her here without a care.
She looked at the roof of the coffin. It was beginning to rot.
Work in Progress