The Blue Guitars

I pull my trouser legs up to reveal two large red patches on my legs. Tears trickle down my neck and onto my overalls; I don’t bother wiping them away. I go to stand up, but Amy holds me.


“Sara,” she says. I let her push me back down. “What do you want?”


“Bathroom,” I say wiping my mouth on my sleeve. As I start to shake all over I am eager to get to the door.


“Hurry up” and I leap towards the door. Voices can be heard near by. I slide down the pole and jump into the bathroom. I look in the mirror; my ponytail is sticking out at weird angles, my face is red, I have about three scars and I’m still crying. Pulling random cupboard doors open I search for some hairspray. I pull some out, and fix my hair. Now I pull my overall off and go to the toilet.


“That’s better,” I say washing my hands. I sit down, and analyse these red patches on my legs. This is now the third time this has happened. It is just strange, I wonder how it happens. I scratch at them, and continue to do it. Now I find myself looking at two blue guitars. The door is pushed a bit, and Amy walks in. She is gob smacked. How do I explain myself? She locks the door and sits in front of me.


“Oh Sara…” she says as if she was expecting this to happen.


“I’m sorry,” I say apologetically.


“It’s ok, I would have done the same if I was you” she goes to touch them, I twitch slightly, and her hands are soft, warm and comforting. I now feel safe around Amy. 

The End

21 comments about this story Feed