The Truth.

 

 

The razor stares at me from across the room, captivating me in its deadly embrace. Drawing me closer, my hand so willingly reaching out, while my heart cries, “No, not again!” subconsciously, my mind takes over. Wounds from the night before are yet to heal, fading with each day that passes by; living life in a dazed fashion. I once was able to turn away from the blade’s stare, but now I am lost in its deadly embrace. Cringing, crying, silent screaming, no-one knows what goes on beyond closed doors. Smiling during light; faking happy eyes. Please, can someone reveal these lies? Wounds heal though scars do not. No matter how small or insignificant it may seem, they each form their own story to tell.

Water hits like shards of glass as it reaches the edges of my cuts. Wounds hide the true smile that beats in my chest. Focussing on pain takes me away from reality. Missing opportunities, they are caught in one’s own fame. My imagination soars higher than their eyes can see; dreaming of a time where darkness is left behind, dreaming of a place where shadows do not cast intimidating giants before me. Too many children are crying, too many people are on the streets after midnight, too many drunk people take over the roads, and too many people look at these houses in disgust. They have to remember that a house-no matter how flash or poorly built-is someone else's home; their haven.

When clouds fill up the sky and cast rain showers over this country, I will not worry. There needs to be downfall in order for us all to feel happiness.

Please, do not joke about any form of abuse. You do not know who you could be talking to.

I live in the country where a woman tortured her own children; starved them and tore off their toenails. I live in the country where a sixteen-year-old was found guilty for raping and beating a five-year-old a couple of days before Christmas. New Zealand doesn’t sound so beautiful now, does it? That’s because I live in the country with beautiful views, not beautiful people. Please, set the children free!

Once I have lived, I may as well die. But, I didn’t ask to be born, and I don’t think I will ask to die.

The razor calls on loud memories in my head, focus on the pain… memories fade, but not all. At least as a child, we learn to block out some of the worst, though I am afraid to forget things completely.

I remember he walked away. I remember he pushed her to the ground and held her there. A man; our Father- a terrifying figure, but people change and he came back, we let him in with open arms. I love him.

My naïve blue eyes; please do not play these memories before those eyes!

A child scared to be alone, that man might return. A teenager who cannot stand to be touched, why did they not believe me? I remember a woman and her hands, rough and experienced. I asked her to stop but she pressed on, her children watching; confused, sympathetic, scared. Maybe if they believed me, I could have helped those children. Even though I was seven, eight or nine, I could have tried harder! He didn’t stop when I pulled away; he didn’t stop when I told him off, when I told Mum. Oh why did they not believe me?

A person open about the past but they say I should be careful about who I tell. I don’t care if people know- only if I am the one to tell you. If they knew, then maybe they would understand me better…

If they step a little closer each day, try a little harder to care, then maybe I will be able to tell them what is going on.

It really makes me sick when she acts as if it happened to her; acts as if she was there. It’s as if she was the one who had to run for her life, too scared to tell her Mother what happened until an hour later. Whenever it’s brought up, it is a slap in the face, mocking laughter and I am the target. She needs to get it in her head that it happened to ME, not HER. I was by myself, eight years old and walking home from a hard day at school, while she was at home with her Mum.

Please don’t ask why, don’t say you need to know. Just accept I don’t want to go there. You guys can go without me, I don’t care. You don’t need to know, and you do not need to understand in order to accept my decision.

So I tell you the reason and you continue to step closer, you continue to put your hands on my shoulders and act oblivious when I ask you not to do that. Sometimes it is as if you do it on purpose! How can you call me a dumb whiny b***h? Of course I am going to get angry! I want to scream, I want to run away every time. You should know why I do not like it; I have even explained it to you! But no, your ignorance blinds you. I’ll tell you now; that is not a good thing.

My good memories tend to fade and the bad are the ones I can recall. I’ve forgotten the happy moments from my childhood, heck, were there any?

 

 

 

Author's Note

I am not asking for sympathy. I just want you let you guys know. I apologise if it's a bit confusing, but I am sure you will be able to fill in the gaps (:

Reviews

[paradise]

wow very intense

[Jack Isaac]

This is a cutting edge tale of a stainless steel friend –cold, inanimate, unbiased, not dangerous in of itself but in the hands of reckless abandon, devastating. Smacks of Hamlet –“to be or not to be” –was all that in the past worthwhile, or just a quirky little game? A tragedy by William Shakespeare reflects modern feelings of youth worldwide, so well expressed in this author’s work. Stunning, speechless I would say, but what is more, this story by MetbySunlight is a beautiful write!

[Coyote Poetry]

The world is a hard place. Bad people doing terrible things. The good people must protect the innocent. There is no safe corner in our world. But for every bad person. There is a hundred good people. Here in the USA. The kind people donate time, money and food to the poor. We must seek the good in our world. I taught my children not to be afraid. But be safe and careful. I hope you had some good times. Had to be a Grandparent or mother who care for you? I had many who assisted me in my life. I try to return the favor by being kind. A powerful story in your story. I know it is hard to see the positive when we hear of the bad only.
Coyote

[Annie]

Ana, you are truly absolutely amazing! Your writing astounds me. I love the part about, "Once I have lived, I may as well die. But, I didn’t ask to be born, and I don’t think I will ask to die." Only God has the power to give beautiful life, and and only God has the power to gently take us to be with him in Heaven.
God knows everything, and I can't see even a millionth that He can, but when you say, "I live in the country where a woman tortured her own children; starved them and tore off their toenails. I live in the country where a sixteen-year-old was found guilty for raping and beating a five-year-old a couple of days before Christmas. New Zealand doesn’t sound so beautiful now, does it? That’s because I live in the country with beautiful views, not beautiful people," yes, New Zealand has bad people in it, but so does America, (the supposed promise land), Egypt, Africa e.t.c. There are beautiful people everywhere, I think you just have to find where God has placed them. Don't worry about everything else, because I think that God made you a beautiful person too. :)