Inside Out

Short story from a little while ago.... Just don't wanna have only One Direction crap on here haha xxxxx

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1. Inside Out

 

My earliest memory is from when I was three and a half years old. I promenaded around the dusty house, my head held high with the pride of dressing myself for the first time.

Geoff laughed at my outrageous outfit, every single article inside out. 

I didn't understand why he was laughing. 

It looked better that way. 

I liked seeing the pale seams holding together the blouse, threads snaking down the side like veins. You could take a pair of scissors and slice them with the rigid blades, the fabric springing apart and becoming nothing but old rags.

I can remember lots of details from my childhood, but only a few particular moments stand out. 

One of the most vivid flashbacks is of myself at the age of seven, slamming my fist into the drywall until it cracks, just so I can see what's on the other side. 

I've always been fascinated with seeing the inside of things, like the interior of a Barbie's hollow head, or the stomach of Mrs. Miller's cat. My next door neighbour cried much too hard after finding her precious domestic animal sprawled across her front porch, his organs scooped out and spread thinly across the welcome mat for further inspection. 

People told me every single day that I didn't value life the way I should. They told me it didn't matter what the dead bird on the sidewalk or the classroom goldfish unsuspectingly swimming in his algae-infested tank looked like on the inside, because all you see is the outside. 

It's something impossible for others to comprehend, because they haven't seen it like I have. 

Everything is much prettier on the inside. 

 

Red is my favourite colour. It's dominant and proud, signifying your strength above others. I would return back to our small house strangled by vines and snarling bushes with a shirt stained the same bright shade as the fire trucks I admired. Sometimes Geoff would cry. I tried to explain to him that it meant I was strong, it represented my power and bravery. 

He insisted it wasn't normal for an eight year old girl to return home every evening covered in the blood of whatever animal she sacrificed that afternoon. He told me I needed help. 

 

I should have listened. 

 

Now I'm scared.

 

It was interesting, entertaining and amusing at first, but now it's overwhelming. 

 

But at least now I know that I was one hundred percent right all this time. 

 

People really do look better inside out. 

 

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