Another grain

That guy is a creep.

Sitting right next to me he is staring at me, not out of the corner of his eye, but his head turned and both eyes fixed on my profile.

They are blue and stunning and cruel, but his face is even more so, the corners around his mouth drawn down all the time. And it's hard to make out more, cause I just refuse to look at him.

Receiving attention might give him bad ideas and somehow I want to limit his ideas to good ones or none if possible.

His breath strokes my ear and I don't like the smell of it and I wonder why I'm even forced to socialize with others, how they could possibly think it would do me good.

Not that I do.

Socialize that is.

I haven't really talked in the past few days and I'm not willing to change that just to tell some bastard to piss off.

I'll save that for later.

Though it would be a pretty good time right now, cause his lips are close, almost touching my earlobe, and he mutters: "I wanna get out!"

With the last word spit lands in my ear and my body goes rigid, refuses to breath for a moment, maybe even considers dying.

Just not to go through that again.

But before I can even react, he has pulled away and I can feel the glance of one of the male nurses hanging on us.

It's a black guy and he's big and bulky and somehow androgynous.

Like they didn't want to give us women to lust after, but no men either.

He probably knows about me, knows about all of us, the collection of twenty lunatics, and so I relax and scoot a bit away with my chair, further to the left, till my elbow hits my other neighbour.

It's a quiet, strawberry blond, a couple of years younger than I, and he doesn't say a word when the incident leaves a big red mark on the picture he was drawing.

I look at my own picture, an angel with floating blond hair and sigh.

To be quiet honest, I don't really know what they wanted me to do.

I mean, I get the instructions, but I don't understand the point, don't know what they're actually gonna find out about me by looking at a picture.

It's not like I'm gonna draw for them what's happened.

If I won't do it for Nila, I won't do it for anybody else.

Though I'm happy not to have him around.

His questioning eyes on my face were just to hard to bear.

It doesn't seem to be enough for him to have put me in that situation in the first place, no, now he wants to talk about it as if he's totally innocent, just trying to help me.

But I know where he gets that from.

That innocent thing always works for him with his bright blue eyes and the blond curls that frame his sharp features.

It makes him look soft like a girl, but his eyes give away just a hint of the mischief his brain is filled with.

And it had been fun.

Had been fun so many times before, but not this one.

He's gone to far and it makes me wonder if there is a point that he might stop at.

Or if he's just gonna rush even further past the line he has already crossed.

Well, give him a car and he probably drive it against a tree, dying blood covered.

I snort at that mental image and turn around to snatch the red crayon out of little boy’s hand.
He lets it go without protest and I start drawing.

I draw the tree and the car and where the driver is supposed to be there is just a big red plop and I drive the crayon over it to get several layers onto it, my finger scrubbing that thing near to the end of its crayon life.

"Who died?” a faint voice asks next to me and I spin around to look at the strawberry red.

His face is expressionless, not even thoughtful or curious and I glare at him, but it goes unnoticed, because his green eyes are fixed on the red stain

"Nobody", I answer and then it hits me- I'm about to give them a clue.

An insight into my brain.

The strawberry blond holds out a green crayon that matches the colour of the car and slowly I begin to go over the bloody red, concealing it, as if it were some spot that needs to be covered with make up.

After a few minutes the blood is gone, but this part of the paper is noticeably thicker now.

I sigh, putting the crayon down and the strawberry has gone back to his work.

It's a ladybird; only that half of it is now yellow with black spots, because I stole his red.

"I'm sorry", I say, staring at his half poisonous insect.

He smiles and shrugs his shoulders, wordlessly adding some colour to the thing.

I look back at mine, the car crashing into the tree, but empty, without a driver that could be hurt.

And I think that this is better, because I don't want him dead.

I just want him gone.

I just want him out of my life.


****

do you know how long ago I wrote that?
and now I'm just so bored and still working on "love and lifeless stars", so I decided to put this up...
have fun and if you read it, please leave a review, because otherwise I won't believe it

hugs

cohe