I sigh as I slide under the covers on my bed, my swollen stomach pushing aside a stuffed lion. I close my eyes and try to get to sleep.
Sleep has been difficult lately, ok, well, maybe a little longer than that. No sleeping since THAT happened. THAT. Darkened memories slide beneath my eyelids. FLASH. The smell of beer. FLASH. Sweating bodies weaved into the darkness. FLASH. A pounding base and the splashing noises of the lake.
NO! My eyes snap open; I refuse to get myself into that again. I refuse to let the demons of that night slip once again into my nightmares.
Happy thought, Secila, happy thoughts. My eyes slide the walls, bumping over old posters and thumbtacks, probing the shadows. Somewhere on earth a car door slams, scattering the cold like leaves.
The pillow is to warm, I flip it over to cool my brain, kicking aside a sock.
My stomach jumps, the small life reminds me that it’s still there. Covers are flipped aside, my shirt pulled up, fingers etching artwork onto my abdomen. It jumps again at my touch; I can’t help but twitch a small smile.
A smile, even though at school I’m trashed because nobody knows the truth; even though I am considered the spawn of Satan by my sister; even though my own parents hate me. In the midst of darkness there is life. A small budding hope that next year will be better; that next year I won’t have to carry the evidence of ignorance under my sweater.
I nurture that seed, contemplating on why THAT had to happen to me, me, the sweet, the innocent. Ignorant, stupid, carless, dumb, dumb, dumb…
You could have screamed (if you were sober), you should have ran (you didn’t know what was happening), you shouldn’t have even been there, you shouldn’t have even been there…
Sleep comes eventually, along with the frequent nightmares that haunt my once pleasant dreams.
Waking is hard, even for a Monday; I don’t want to even move. They can’t make me endure another day of struggle and sorrow.
My door reverberates with a knock, I sigh as I hear my sisters voice, “wake up!â€Â, the door unlatches, she stands in my door way, a scowl on her face, “common s***k, just because you pregnant doesn’t give you the right to sleep in.†clothes and a towel are tossed onto me, she walks off, leaving the sting of her words behind.
I pull aside the shower curtain, turning on hot water; it steams at my face, hissing, accusing me. My clothes are slipped off, making small shifting noises, and I plunge head first into the misjudging mist. My head is excepting of the water that poured in torrents onto its surface, and I tilted it back to feel the rush on my face, washing away the sticky sweat of last night’s tossing’s and turnings.
thats the very beginings of the story i am writing, could i ask your opinion on it? what does it need, what does it lack, is it descriptive, whats up with it? i want 100 percent honest opinions u wont hurt my feelings i prominse!
thanx u people you are allways very helpfull!
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