A plead For Help

[LastFallenAngel 112]

Avaline slumped down in the small, overgrown garden, her breath escaping in a long, hollow sigh. Her fingers traced the splint on her right wrist, the roughness of the wood and bandages a bitter reminder of her fragility and clumsiness. A dry, joyless chuckle left her lips.
 

“Just watch where you’re going... get new eyes... medical treatments, they said. As if any of that could fix it,” she muttered to herself, her hand tightening around her wrist, only to wince at the sharp sting of pain. She swallowed the urge to scream, but the need clawed at her throat. Instead, she gazed blankly into the abyss that stretched before her—the same unending darkness that had swallowed her life decades ago. Her eyes, though useless, searched as if hoping for some faint glimmer. Nothing. Only the shadows that had become her home, her prison.
 

"I don’t want new eyes. I don’t need treatments. I don’t need replacements,” she whispered, bitterness seeping into her voice. “A scar is all I have. A reminder of everything I’ve lost—every mistake I’ve made, every betrayal. Friends…” Her voice trailed off, heavy with the weight of memories she could no longer bear.
 

With a groan, she forced herself up, her cane slipping from her lap and clattering to the ground. She didn’t even flinch, didn’t bother to reach for it. What was the point? She stood there, motionless, her tired eyes hidden beneath the faded scarf that covered the deep, cruel scar etched across her face.
 

“But I need help,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I need someone... something... I don’t ask for much. Hell, I’ve never asked for anything. I hardly deserve it. But if there’s anything left out there—anything at all—I’m begging for it now.” Her lips trembled, dry, cracked, and broken like her spirit was years ago. “I shunned help before, pushed it away, but I can’t anymore... I’m tired. I can’t keep doing this alone.”
 

Her chest tightened, a scream bubbling beneath the surface, but she swallowed it down again, unwilling to wake the man inside the house. He didn't need to hear her cries, her helplessness. She slowly nudged her cane with her foot, the clumsy motion a reflection of her weariness.
 

"I’m begging,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "Just... something... someone..."
 

Finally, she found her cane and leaned heavily on it, the weight of her body and soul resting against its cold surface. With a shaking hand, she pulled the scarf away from her face, revealing the deep, jagged scar that crossed her eyes and nose, cutting her in half.
 

“If this isn’t enough,” she murmured, her voice a hollow echo, “if all this suffering still isn’t enough... then I don’t know what will be. I don’t know what more I can give. What more do they want.” Her voice cracked, but no tears came. She had none left to shed.

Edited October 14, 2024 by LastFallenAngel
fixed action from talk coloring