#8: All Boxed In

Locked inside yourself
Footsteps on the tile floor
Don't stop to look back


Her hands brushed along the plastic coverings of the door nobs on sale, eyes trailing over the rows and rows of lampshades. Shoulders and arms brushed passed her, bustling to get to the sale before the day is up. For whatever reason, the town seemed to love lamp shades and door nobs with a passion.

"Jennifer Rawlings to the registers. Jennifer Rawlings to the registers!" The intercom rang in her ears, her head whipping up towards the ceiling where the sound bursted from. Jennifer's heart stammered in her chest. She walked forward, head feeling dizzy like a feather fluttering from a tree top. Her fingers fumbled at her sides. They were looking for her.
People continued to rush past her, but now in the opposite direction of the new products.

Hushed shouting echo through the isles. Her friend said that a quick trip to IKEA would be a nice change. Jennifer has grown tired of her room, a window leading to a empty courtyard she wasn't allowed into. She hated the needles they put on her arms every morning. Fingertips on her skin, crawling across her shoulders, neck, spine. Sometimes her mind went away, far back in her brain, foggy glass that she tried to claw at. They were doing that to her. But something stopped her before she said anything.

The people around her were growing frantic, yelling and running towards the door. Jennifer knew they were looking for her. She wanted to run. Her body floating through isle after isle of furniture, kitchen ware, windows.

"We're locked in. It's a hostage--" She heard someone yelling. It sounded far, so far away. Red cheeks on a rainy day. David Bowie blasting in her ears. There was screaming, Jennifer knew it was there. Somewhere behind what they had done to her. It was yelling, and crying, and blood. It was colors and scrubbing hands until they were raw. It was opaque glass, and she was clawing, scratching at it.

"Stop! Stop it!" Her mind screamed and burned. Her mouth never opened.

The hysteria was quickly growing in the store, and in Joon's heart. Joon. Her name was Joon. She saw the women running towards her from down the isle, coming right for her. Joon felt her converse shoes hitting the tile before she realized she was running. She had to get out.