𝖡𝖤𝖳𝖱𝖠𝖸𝖠𝖫 𝖲𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 #1
She pressed the knife deeper to my throat. I could feel the sting and blood beginning to trickle down my neck.
"I gave you a chance to leave and never come back, why didn't you take it?"
I looked into those deep gre...
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LORELAI CAMPBELL
To speak, to spill words that have been caged inside our beautiful minds for too long.
To form words that heal seeping wounds, to form words that help the dead at heart. Speaking isn't just a necessary skill that people have. Speaking means you have something relevant to say, a story to tell. My words did not help the dead at heart, my words could never heal seeping wounds. So I just didn't speak. I never spoke to those closest to me.
When I was born, I did not scream. I didn't dramatically take the first breath of new life. This scared everyone in the surgery room because I would not make a noise. I eventually whimpered but even that wasn't convincing.
Therapist, baby coach, moving to a different place, therapist, baby coach, moving to a different place.
Each from the next and none helped. They tried to make me submit to speaking by hiring the next brunette lady with glasses. They all just the same thing, "she will eventually speak, these things take time". Time is of the essence, whatever that may entail.
Useless words would spill from my mind and reach just the tip of my tongue before I swallow them down. They would catch at my throat but I would force them down because they have no relevancy.
Six years old, elementary school, I encountered my first bully.
Her name was Juliana Crawford, she was three inches taller than me and wouldn't stop spilling unnecessary words from her mind about my lack of doing so. Whenever I'd have to present to the class, I would just shake my head of black coils and the teachers would assign a zero for my presentation. Nothing was wrong with me. I didn't wish to die and part from my physical body, I didn't want my soul to roam aimlessly in the heaven you worship.
I just wanted to be able to find my voice. To find relevancy in myself because I was roaming around on earth, taking in oxygen that could be used to save a life, walking on the pavement that the paralyzed would love to walk on just once more. Eating food that the homeless couldn't afford.
I just wanted to speak. To form words that have been encased for too long. Words that heal seeping wounds. Words that help the dead at heart.
Everything ran it's course and eventually went down a hole. A self pity hole. A devastating hole.
It was all perfect until the spark ruined it. The flame that trailed on the rope filled with gasoline and ruined everything in its path. That flame touched everything in the household and I watched it. I watched my home get burnt to ruins. My parents were too good of Samaritans and they threw me out of the window from the two story house we built. I could never forgive them for not jumping after me.
