Darkness with flickering colors–that’s what the back of my eyelids look like. The sight is comforting, familiar. I want nothing else, yet the voice that speaks to me says otherwise.
“Show them how they make you feel.”
“Make them feel it too.”
“You want this to happen to her.”
But I want nothing, just the cacoon of blackness and the tendrils of warmth dancing along my skin.
Hints of campfire invade my senses when I breathe in, the taste of smoke brief on my tongue. This, this is peace.
“They don’t deserve peace.”
“This isn’t peace. Show them peace.”
“This isn’t what you want.”
I exhale, my arms twitching against their confines around my body. A new, blurry light invades my closed eyes.
“Open your eyes.”
I refuse. Instead I tighten them, focusing on the shifting of colors, finding comfort that only comes from things known a long time. I don’t need to see, I don’t need to wonder.
Sweat builds along my skin, on my forehead. The smoke is thicker, burning my nasal passage and lungs. The voice continues to whisper, to remind.
I’m never allowed to forget.
“They hurt you.”
And I hurt them.
“They’re still hurting you.”
The voice continues, the heat rising, sounds of cackling and sparking surrounding me.
“Give up and open your eyes.”
I can bear the pain no longer, and my eyes rip open.
Flames burn around me, screams of pain beyond.
“This, this is your revenge.”
I can’t help but smile.
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