Say again_Salty Closet_It Was Her_Markings on the Wall
Catalog Guide:
Say again
I had been placed in the posiwww.onedoor.cction of Ward aid at the county mental institution. The facility actually took care of 2 counties, a geriatric population, and juvenile population so it was a rather large psychiatric campus. This was my work relief job that I had to maintain in order to receive any of my social services benefits such as food coupons, rent voucher, utility voucher and clothing allowance. You see at the age of 18 I had been caught stealing food and had to go to court. I was assigned a Nun from the order of Saint John’s as my probation officer and she was helping me develop an ind...
Salty Closet
(CW: Mental illness, allusions to abuse and suicide)She didn’t hear the small pop that sounded a few inches from her face. Her muffled sadness covered it up. A few minutes passed before she lifted her eyes enough to even see it, the top of her head brushing the clothes above her. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. When she was young, she used to play with the wetness in her eyes. She would stare up at the ceiling, squinting and opening. Squinting and opening. Watching the rays from her ceiling light distort, lengthen, and disappear. She didn’t do that now, though. It was night,...
It Was Her
Writer's note: I would recommend reading my other story 'Gimme the mike!' first as there might be instances regarding the above mentioned.-----Those blue eyes, that melody filled smile, those beautiful curls in her hair, every memory is embedded like a pillar in my heart. The first day, I ever saw Noa, as I sipped the miscellaneous coffee with chunks of sugar still teasing my mouth. The blurred colours swirled in the sky pouring its shades to the July evening. She was partly sitting, her hips shallowly placed on the cold outer ring by which the skates drove by. A firm grip held the soda in her...
Markings on the Wall
I wish someone would tell me why my mom has permission to put permanent marks on the wall in the bathroom, but I get my ass beat for drawing a beautiful cloud scene on the ceiling of my sister’s room. None of it makes any sense to me. Mom claims the marks she put on the wall are just a record of her children’s height. Okay, maybe that’s fair enough, but my reasons are just as good. My drawing is a record of what the sky looked like on the day I made the the drawing. And to add insult to my already injured 14-year-old ego, I got my ass beat a second time when I decide...