BC 1 A Stolen Voice

By Angel

Death wants you to be petrified but the frightfully alarming thing is silently hoping for death. This is the story of the girl that was. This is the story of how I put her to sleep for eternity. Today, my woods are sombre; the singing birds sing miserable melodies, the trees look gloomy, the roses have all perished, and all the butterflies have clipped wings. The soft-grey sky appeared to sympathize with me, a gust of wind swept the scattered, fallen autumn leaves that have turned to scorching yellows and brittle browns across the forest floor. The foreboding clouds gave away the hint that it was about to rain. I looked up, ‘Why so sad, sky?’ A babbling sound struck my ears as the first pearls of saturating rain like crystal tears began to descend from the murky clouds to the delicate, variegated leaves. ‘Maybe the angels cry too and their tears fall from heaven as raindrops,’ or so I thought. A rain droplet gently landed on my rose flushed-cheek as if to verbalize, ‘If I could I would kiss away all your scars.’ The rain intensified as I ran barefoot into the overarching vault of leaves of the isolated forest, the feeling of grass between my toes gave me great delight, each step I took felt different, my soul, naked and in my heart, I’ve broken free from my cage.

The wind played with my disheveled midnight-black, velvety hair cascading over my shoulders, my lips curved and a faint, transient wistful smile lightened my dispirited face. Seasoning fragrances seemed to spring in and out of my consciousness. As the sun goes down beyond the horizon, the day takes a back seat to give way to night, and luminous petals of silver freckled the night sky.

The first thing they probably told you about my life was how I died. I met evil when I only was a child. Hurt, confused, shocked, frightened, ashamed, and angry. With difficulty, I cried out, ‘Why.’ It wasn’t a question. Not being able to hold it inside any longer, I fell to my knees, on the cold blanket of lush, green sward, the grief escaped through my red, swollen eyes in an uncontrollable flood of tears. You violated not only me but my peace, my worth, my trust, my voice, my safety, my innocence, my will, and every single thought in my goddamn head. And you got away with it. And you want to know what hurts the most? When you finally find the courage to whisper, ‘I’m scared,’ only to find out that your family members’ reaction towards them is just as agonizing and shattering as the initial trauma. There is always a cliff at the end of the darkest trail. ‘It wasn’t supposed to end this way,’ I thought, but I couldn’t escape it. ‘I pray you never take a breath without remembering the breath you’ve just taken away,’ I said distressingly as I leaped off the precipitous cliff to my death.

This is a powerful piece of work and the author is very brave for writing it. If the author is distressed I hope he or she will ask for help. I also hope he or she keeps writing.