Under Sundered Skies

Sloane woke up to the sound of rolling thunder, the sky was in turmoil, it's cries audible even to her unsupported ears. Tears of rain fell from the clouds as though the world was weeping heavily, their pitter patter on the window a distant sound to Sloane.

With a shaking hand weak from the fresh cuts on her wrist, Sloane pushed herself off her bed and stumbled down to the floor. Her wobbly feet couldn't take the hunger any longer and she fell.

Releasing a sigh of regret, Sloane reached out to her left and picked up a protein bar from her drawer.

She felt her hearing aids and flinched, she pulled her hand back like she just touched burning charcoal. Her heavy breathing worked in tandem with her racing heart to increase her distress.

Sloane touched her chest and squeezed, the pain in her wrist burned from the action but the aching in her chest felt even worse. It was soon accompanied by memories of-

Why was she running? Where was she going? Her head felt dizzy- something was dripping down her forehead-

Sloane let out an incoherent scream full of pain, the cry was met with thunderous applause and a flash of lightning. It was mockery. The sky was mocking her.

The woman leading the group therapy said that thinking about silver linings was important. Sloane thought she was stupid. Ignorant.

Does the woman understand Sloane's pain? Most likely. Empathy does that. It makes people feel pity.

But did she go through weeks worth of anger and resentment? Sloane wasn't sure- the woman could have for all she knew. But that didn't mean anything. She's still stupidly ignorant and way too optimistic.

Forget about her past? How? It was the reason why she was there in the first place!

Her present was a constant reminder that things could have gone better if the past just didn't happen!

Sloane is glad that there is no one left to drive her to that stupid studio.

There was too much light in that ugly place, it was too bright. And the open space made her choke. And everyone there with her only made her feel worse.

Sloane thought that they were just waiting for her to leave and once she was gone, they'd meet up and start talking behind her back.

So what if they went through similar things? They wouldn't understand having their hearing aids ripped from their ears, nor would they understand what it was like to flail around while being held down and beaten.

The same experiences? Clearly some had it worse than the others. Everyone else was just pretending to feel the same pain. So what if they lost their hearing or sight recently?

Sloane has felt nothing but hearing aids inside her ears ever since she knew how to think, since she could talk. Or couldn't talk. Explain? Not a chance.

She couldn't scream. They still could. Only a few there used sign language to communicate. Only a few only had sign language to communicate. Most of them could talk. Scream. Shout for help.

Everyone was passing her by- why?-

If people just went out of their way to understand her distress instead of dismissing her-

Sloane wiped the corners of her eye.

"Uh-"

No words came.

The on the scene interview from a local news station that followed was even worse.

Idiots. Why would they assume she was a homeless person begging for money when there was blood in her head? Are people just that stupid?

Sloane didn't think so. They were willfully ignorant. Willfully resentful. Naturally cruel.

She wished the world just burned, that humans began to get eradicated enmasse. They didn't deserve to ruin this world and its natural beauty with their cruelty.

The protein bar she was biting snapped in half and fell to the ground, Sloane's frustration went high and she clenched her hands into fists.

Why had she even been born?

She yelled, the sound wasn't accompanied by the sky's own scream this time around, it made Sloane hear her own voice and make comparisons to her attempts at talking in the past.

She thought the 'ah's' didn't sound that different from her screech.

It reminded her of a bird.

Sloane thought she was a bird stuck to her own body. A cage covered by a thick drape that did not let her sing or hear, merely see shadows created by the sun.

Birds, normally, get caught by humans and caged. Her though? She thrust herself into this life, she couldn't even escape from her body, all she could do is make tiny cuts that sting-

Sloane laughed and picked up the protein bar from the floor, out of self-directed cruelty, she shoved it into her mouth and began chewing.

She knew- HOPED she would get sick from eating this thing. Get sick and die.

She enjoyed this tiny bit of freedom over her life.

It- it was the only thing she had.

The only thing she could do to feel an ounce of joy in this stupidly complicated thing that she never wanted in the first place.

Everything about it, from her parents to her own cowardice left her with no other choice but to keep going and- and-

A soft weep.

Followed by her sleeve coming up and wiping her eyes.

Sloane thought that each and every bit of her actions was done by a coward who couldn't do anything but cry.

- and Sloane didn't want that anymore.

She didn't want anymore of this stupid life. Anymore of her cowardice.

The pressure was too much, everything she did couldn't amount to anything, not when the world itself was fighting to slow her down.

'Sloane,' she flinched when a hand touched her own, 'I understand how you feel,' no she didn't, she was a successful therapist, how could she understand? 'but everyone is being slowed down, others more so-'

"Ah-" a soundless cry, no words came out.

"Ah-" again, it happened, it made her frustrated, why couldn't she SPEAK?!

"A-" Sloane hammered the ground with her fists.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!"

She hated that sound. Why is it the only thing that comes out of her mouth?!

Sloane couldn't even say shut up when that woman is no longer talking to her. She failed to do it during the sessions, to make the woman go silent. To make her stop.

And even after that- months have passed- she-

Sloane punched the ground as hard as she could and felt a stinging burn began to eat away at her wrist. The floor started to slowly turn red.

Sloane held her face with her hands and began crying.

She thought that the sounds were no different from her attempts at talking and realized for the hundredth time that for all her life, she's only ever really cried.

Sloane was glad that her cries were drowned out by the stormy sky outside, otherwise the neighbors would come again and she didn't want to explain to them why her wrists were bleeding.

When her episode subsided, Sloane stopped beating herself up over her life and walked to the bathroom, she cleaned her wrists, wrapped them in bandages- like a coward, she should just let- and wet a towel to wipe her blood off the floor.

Sloane glared at herself as she wrung the towel free of her own blood, the red sink was a perfect contrast to her pale face, the only signs of color on it were the dark bags under her eyes.

Sloane opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of painkillers, she popped two in her mouth and washed them down her throat. She gripped the edges of the ceramic sink tightly as her headache turned extreme.

When relief came to her, she exhaled and closed her eyes.

Sloane stood there, in front of the mirror, breathless, for what felt like an eternity before she opened her eyes and continued with the rest of her morning.

She wiped the hand print off the mirror and walked out the foggy bathroom, the pills she took kept her off the edge as she did the rest of her daily routine, she cooked for herself, ate breakfast, and silently watched TV in the lightless living room.

Or at least she would have, if she wasn't met with static no matter which channel she switched to. Was the storm seriously that bad?

Clicking her tongue in frustration, Sloane turned off the TV and turned away.

She paused when she saw fingers gripping the edges of the ceiling near the stairs, on the edges of her vision, a pair of eyes watched her-

Sloane blinked and they were gone. Hallucinations. Guess she needed more than pain killers today.

The fear left her body and just like that, the atmosphere within the living room subsided, turning from thick and eerie, like something would jump out and nab her, to a lingering cold that pricked at her skin.

Sloane went back to her bathroom, if she couldn't waste away at the tv, she might as well enjoy the cold storm and go to sleep. But first, she needed to shower.

Sloane turned on its heat and removed her bandages, shortly followed by her hearing aids.

As steam began to build around her feet, Sloane shook off her clothes and stepped into the shower.

The warm water soothed her skin and made the stinging sensation in her wrists subside, just as she was feeling satisfied, sounds suddenly began to assault her ears.

More hallucinations that reminded her of who she was and where her life was going. The shower couldn't wash these feelings away.

Through the hazy noise, Sloane could almost hear the sounds of some stupid children's cartoon, which meant her stupid brain was hallucinating about the tv, and she understood why it would do this, as she herself wanted to watch it.

Too bad. She won't. She wanted sleep now so her mind better change its preferences and get on with the silence.

It didn't happen, and eventually, Sloane tuned it out. Annoying as the hallucinations were, she at least knew how to place them in the background.

It was one of the few good things she got from therapy.

Sloane turned off the heat, the fog was getting annoying, the heat too was distracting, she was starting to see shadows moving in the fog now too.

Sloane didn't bother to put on her hearing aids once she finished, merely choosing to throw on a pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt.

She then downed a pair sleeping pills and proceeded to bandage her wrists.

A wave of sadness came over her when she stepped out of the bathroom and saw just how ruined her room looked.

She nursed her head with her palm and wiped a tear from her cheek.

Heaving, Sloane walked to her cabinet and pulled a drawer open.

She held the revolver pensively, the weapon felt heavier than before and yet at the same time, it also felt lighter.

Sloane pressed the weapon's mouth to the side of her head.

She gave her room one last look.

That was when she saw the door creak open and her depression was suddenly replaced with panic, she pointed it at the door and fired.

Was there a shadow on the wall just now? What?

Sloane shook her stinging hands back and forth, one after the next. The gun didn't leave her grip.

She stared at the door, her weapon held steady. Were those fingers gripping the door just now?