Intense, unyielding pain. It is all that I am. It is all that I can remember. What am I? Who am I? The questions seem to float in the air around my face. Face. Face? I have a face? The pain is so bad that is has become a state of being. If it stops, I’ll shatter. Face. The word nags me. Why?
A movement and the blank whiteness turns into a thousand pretty colours. The northern lights inside of my own mind. A lightshow to rival any other. Face. That word again. Oh, alright. Hand. Arm. Move. The words throw themselves at me like battering rams. Hand.
The smallest twitch of broken, hurting fingers and the word connects. Hand. I have hands. Arm. It’s caked it blood and other things but reluctantly obeys. A jolt of colour, from wrist to shoulder.
Trembling fingers dance over torn lips and damaged teeth. A flare of bright yellow from my cheek. I don’t like it. The colour is... wrong. My arm drops. More colour. Bright red. I ignore it. Hu... wom... Human. Woman. The words have no meaning. Like a jigsaw puzzle with the edges cut off, nothing connects. Human. Woman.
Those words again. Hand. Arm. Face. Human. Woman.
That’s me. And my name is Jill.
This is something I wrote while pretty much asleep. I can't really remember writing it, and don't know what to make of it because it's not really my style. Feel free to rip it
