Lost.
The word repeated in my mind over and over again. Where am I? What am I doing here? What is this place? Question after question, popping into my throbbing head. Then it hits me. 1961. The clock strikes twelve and I am told it's my seventeenth year. I don't fear where I am, the only thing I am fearing...
is him.
He's here, the smell of booze and cigar smoke filled in my lungs clogging them up causing me to cough rather loudly. I hear the creaking of the old wooden floors come to a stop. I cover my cold, shivered, naked body in the ripped up sheets I was laying on. He walks into the room and smirks down at me.
This wasn't a Nightmare...
It was Reality.
His hair slicked back with a towel wrapped around his waist and tucked to perfection. The elder man that stood in the frame of the door looked more than pleasured. Looking back at the girl who feared existence, she cowered against the wallpaper of the hallway. I can faintly see her actions. He grabbed her arm and yanked her into the room. He looked up at me and winked as if he could see my cold blooded body, knowing the ghost that I was. He pushed her against the dresser and beat her with the belt that laid upon the floor.
"You will do as I say, with no fear. Everything will be done my way or else you will lose your hope to every getting out." his raspy voice screams into the forest, echoing each word in a slow motion.
"I'd rather die alone, then sit and suffer my pain with you." she gulped slightly.
The dirty man smacked her across the face, turned to me and spit between her feet. Then walking out the room and slamming the broken door shut.
I walked up to the shriveled young lady and tried to comfort her wiping away the tears that lie along her astonished face. Not even feeling the warmth of my hands, she walks to the window, pushing away the emotion of dust flaunting around the room, when really it was me standing silently behind her. I pick up her name tag and place it among the table for my eyes to read. Clarissa. Another one to add to my list. A list I should probably make and keep track of, thinking to myself ever so selfishly. By the next two months there will have already been another four.
I wake up in the clouds already screaming his name, for no reason to be found. As my voice gets softer and softer, as if I'm loosing it. Forgive me! Take me to the heavens where I can crawl into the arms of my redeemer and know that I am done here, I can be with my father himself. My worlds tearing apart, straight down the middle. Just like my heart. I fall into the dark, cold hell of the demons. That man with such a horrid name that can only be repeated once, Jace.
Let's start back from the beginning...
It's killing me. To even speak of it.
Every movement, every week, every month. I can't stop it.
I'm not talking about mother nature, I'm talking about my death.
Most people like you would stop speaking, may get terrified. A lot have told me they're afraid, however there's just one thing about you that seems to be helpful. Most people I meet won't let me share my story, some won't even let me say my name. Don't even reply with a hello. But you, there's something about you that just makes me smile. Every word that comes out of you're mouth fills into my heart with joy. If you come along with me then we'll be able to discover this long journey of what life my really be, together.
You may think I'm flattering you? Funny, but not even close.
These were the words that I was told as a four year old because I was always told,
"Never take candy from strangers." which apparently as a line used in motherhood, it never taught me good anyway.
This is me. Not interested in barbies or dress up games. Not the type for princess movies. Didn't like movies at all to be honest with you. I've always been so immature, as my mother would say.
My name is Summer Lyric Rose. I am now 17. I am aging, according to the clock. I am not completely dead yet. My heart is the one that has control not my soul, portal after portal, I am dragged to wherever the rose has touched...I was born on August 23rd of 1944 and what is thought by the rest of the society, dead. It all happened January 1st of 1958. Age of fourteen. It all started with one man. You would have never thought someone so poorly bitter can hurt you in such a way.
My death was noted of a mental illness and anxiety attack. I was put in a rehab at the age of seven years because my step-brother thought I was mentally insane. My mother sent me off with my step-father as well as my step-brother because I was getting in the way of what she would say would say, alcohol abuse. In my opinion really, it was just her sick, twisted way of saying that she realized how much she physically tore me apart, knowing that the marks she left on my body will never go away...and that's were it went down hill.
Let me explain my mother to you, she is an Alcoholic. Abusive as a matter of fact. She thinks she's helping me, but I can remember the smug look on her face when she looked at the only purple contusion that was left to my hip bones. She was tearing me apart. I wouldn't blame her though. After my dad left not a call or a trace of him for 6 years straight, I turned 9 finally could understand what was happening and we got a call. He jumped off a bridge. He took his life. He was just like my mum. Ill and not grateful for the fact that no matter how far he could run, he'd still have me standing at the end of his roads. The only road he didn't find me at the end of, was the path to his death. He lead that one on his own.
I wake up from my thoughts, trying to shake off my wrong-doings. I can't think about that right now, I need to get home. Before he finds me.
Cold and quivered, leaning up on a dirty brick wall in an alley way, knowing that any minute could be my last. I know he's here I can smell him. Sardines and Booze, disgusting old hag he was. I would say he would kill me if he knew I was here, knowing I ran away however I'm already dead.
I wrap my fragile little arms around my boney body. Its strange to me how no one else can see my monster complection but him. It's like he's re-living all my nightmares with me...In my dreams...in my most inconsiderate happy places, I can't even find the term; "To be Happy."
I'm afraid.
Not of him, but what he's capable of doing.
Even though I'm just a cold sinful soul I can still feel his tight grip around my wrists, the rope burns on my neck. Every smell of alcohol, from a white rum to red whine. Never the less. Always drinking. He smirks every time he sees me. It's like he knows I now know the truth, and that I have opened my eyes to reality. Once they're open, they're not closing back.
I shouldn't have emotions, I am suppose to loose all feeling.
I don't think this is my death...
It's my awakening.
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Author's Note;
Hey Guys!
I just want you to know that this is still in MAJOR editing. I had started last summer and had no intentions of continuing, I have tons of chapters done but are no where near ready to post them. I've been working in my english classes to improve my vocabulary and story writing skills to hopefully make this better and have a stronger plot, must I say this. If you enjoy please send me feeback on which I should continue or not :) I've got the ending perfectly written out in my head and can't wait to continue if so.
PS> a lot of people have been telling me to post more poetry (updated) as of what I am writing now and a lot more of last years things. I shall sometime later on.
Thank you so much for reading,
-Hailey.
