A Staring Figure

'I got beaten! I got beaten!' I woke up yelling. Ever since last night these words, this scene repeated in my head. I wasn't speaking about someone else's words. I didn't steal their words. It was mine. I said those. I woke up to the feeling of falling. Like I stepped foot on the bare sky from the top of a building. I stepped foot on a bare mud pile. It was my dream; my memory.

I was falling, slowly, with warm breath, black eyes, wide open, red blood coming out like I'm crying blood. Mouth agape. So dark. Really dark. After-rain drops dripping from the tree leaves above me. A big dark muddy hole in the side of the road which I was falling into. I do not see the one behind me. I can't. I wish I'd fall face-forward so that I can see who pushed me. Who hit me? It's so silent. It's the first time I've seen a memory this clear.

. . .

As clear as my memory, there was another thing I saw after I woke. It was 3.30 in the morning and in this dark room, there was a light. A light came from the slightly opened door in front. This light was also fairly blocked by a shadow. A silent figure standing behind the door in the lightened hallway. Its eye was white. It was watching me. Perhaps wondering. Whether I'm recovering. It's keeping an eye on, me because I didn't tell my 'parents' that I have begun recovering...