Plastic blue invitations in my room.
I've been waiting here for you.
Reservations made for two.

"Blue", The Birthday Massacre

Dot.

Dot dot.

DOT DOT.

She banged the marker against the wall with all her might, despite knowing making marks on a conrete wall with Crayola would not help anyone find her.

So instead, her rage boiling and subsiding over and over again inside her like a lava lamp, she snapped the marker in between her fingers.

WAIT! something called.

Do you want them to think you just gave up? you just submitted to your anger and lost yourself?

She shivered and shook her head furiously...and smeared the last of the ink from the marker over her hands, and slowly, but ever so surely, began writing on the crumbling concrete walls surrounding her, the hacksaw and tin cans behind her abandoned.