sane

Dirt had caked itself into every crease on my hands, like chocolate frosting, only more disgusting.  I cringed and looked up at the empty ceiling, and the hole I had been thrown through.  My only little bit of sunlight.

The walls were caked with dirt, but when I felt madness creeping over me like an old friend, I would  scratch away the layers of grime until it began to crumble away on its own, burying itself beneath my once-manicured nails and revealing time-aged paintings and etchings on the walls.  I think by some fleeting hope I was expecting an escape to be hidden under that dirty mess.  I must’ve been half-mad to even think I had any hope of escape.

Most the time, I just lay on the floor and stare into the light.  My hair clumped together, coated in grease, and spiders would crawl over my fingertips.  It didn’t matter anymore, though, because I wasn’t the girl who was afraid of spiders, or the girl who needed to look pretty.  I didn’t listen to U2 and live for the next episode of The Hills.  I didn’t even know who that girl was anymore.

In that hole, I became somebody else.  I grew a protective outer shell, like a turtle, and I could hide within it whenever I needed.  I could bury myself in my emotional shell and I was safe there, and my body could interact with the environment however it wanted.  I wasn’t mad.  There is no such thing as madness in Wonderland.  I learned to protect myself in the only way I could.

I hid behind a shield of mental instability.  It was the only place that I felt sane.

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Word: Identity.  ||  Time: 8 minutes.  ||  Character: Yvette Hatter.