I wanted to write about something readers dont see everyday. I saw a artical about lobotomies...
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A broken mirror leans against a charred wall of what used to be a bedroom. Fallon sits next to the mirror frame, the sharp glass in front of her, and she tries to return the pieces back to their proper places. The shards of reflective glass slice easily through the skin, and makes various lacerations of diverse depths and sizes. The mirror’s gold frame has blood covering every inch of it. Fallon picks up some of the pieces and grips them tightly, her knuckles turn white. She doesn’t take notice to the warm liquid that slowly drips from her closed fists. The crimson droplets form dark puddles on her dirty, ripped up jeans.
The dim light coming from the cloud covered January sun, shines through the only window in the room, and casts a sickly pale color across the floor. Other than the natural light beaming into the room, it is dark. It’s almost time for the stars to come out of hiding, so Fallon enjoys the remaining sunlight. Her spine aligns perfectly with the corner closest to the window. She struggles to keep her green blue eyes open and tries to resist leaning her head against one of the walls on either side of her. She knows she cannot let herself fall asleep, so Fallon tries to refocus herself on the broken mirror. She replaces the pieces she forgot were in her hands and sets them next to the others on the blackened floor. All her movements are slow, her body drained from the lack of sleep. Fallon cannot remember why she shattered the mirror, but she knows it’s the one object that will keep her from losing her sanity.
With the few minutes of sunlight left, Fallon chooses the largest shard of glass from the floor and wipes it clean of the ash with her bloodstained shirt. She raises the piece high enough to see some of her reflection and is disgusted at what she sees staring back at her. Dark circles enclose bloodshot green blue eyes. Her lips are cracked from the dry winter weather and bleed easily. She is pale, her skin so whitish, she looks corpse-like. Long brown hair hangs limply on her shoulders and her pale neck and cheeks are smeared with ash, dirt, and blood.
Fallon puts the piece of mirror back on the floor and leans forward, and peeks out the large window. She places her cut up hands on the dirty floor and crawls slowly towards it, knowing she isn’t going to see anything pretty beyond the window glass.
The sky is a dark gray color now and the wind blows hard, and Fallon can hear it clearly. The neighborhood she sees from the two-story house that was engulfed in a fire not even a week ago, stands alone on the street. The families in this particular location have left, as well as the rest of the community. Fallon finds sanctuary in this burnt house, which offers her a hiding place from anyone who decided to follow her. She also hasn’t seen any sight of the doctors. Everything she sees from the window looks all too familiar. Out of the many towns she had passed through, Fallon has seen her fair share of the abandoned houses, buildings and businesses that are now becoming more and more frequent throughout the country with every passing day.
Fallon is on the run and she knows why everyone is leaving, fleeing for their lives. She knows that somewhere, when they try to find refuge, those people are going to run into the doctors, who are only in search for new eyes.