The flames to remind you

Prologue

No matter where I live in the world, I will always feel this misery. I will always see the bright red stains on the floor of my temporary house. I will always have the scars that cover up my body.

My body will always be strikes and lashed at, in times of others anger and aggression. I feel the numbing cold of my buried away pain and loneliness. Not even my stories can make me feel. Sometimes I walk around and feel invisible, shallow, weak and unwanted. I feel vulnerable and hurt and at some point its all hazed at my mind.

I start questioning myself. My reality that surrounds me in dread and self pity. Am I even real? Do I want to be? Do I need to be seen and acknowledged outside of punishments?

I've watched other parents with their children. Saw the happiness shine in their eyes as they gaze at the laughter. Will I ever have that? A family? A friend? Do I even deserve it?

I drown myself in gruesome thoughts and tempting decisions. Trying to keep the agony and exahstion from coming to the surface like a unwanted reminder of my worth to this world.

I guess it really all just depends on what I do with the pain I'm given. Do I let it fester and and burn inside me? Let it consume every shred of humanity and sanity that I hold? Or do I let it remind me of what I don't deserve?

But I wanted to live. Truely. I wanted to see the world through the colorful glass panes. I wanted to understand what love is. What possilities are out there in the world for me.

Yet there's only one moment in my life. One decision that gave me my freedom with the lock and key. Gave me hope in the dark depression and self hate.

Who knew that the pain and suffering that my body had adapted to would be the very thing to get me a ticket away from the agony?

My father moved us around alot for his job. For as long as I can remember I was homeschooled. The only thing father made sure to give me was languages and coding books. Maybe because in his eyes I needed to be able to communicate with the people of the country I was in? But probably because he didn't care what he picked out and shoved at me.

But my thirst for knowledge was useful. Even if accidental because I had to do the shopping and calling for appointments and whatnot.

But now I'm eleven years old. We had recently moved to Greece for a while and I wanted to explore the beautiful lands and culture. Watch as the sun rose and fell in beautiful pinks oranges and yellows.

I even made sure to finish my school work and get my punishments of the day completed early, just so I could explore!

But soon my small reprieve from the chaos of my life shatters.

From the house up ahead of me, I hear a scream peirce through the once silent air. I've always been what my family refers to as 'nosey' so my curiosity has me running up ahead to see what was happening. I've always had a soft spot for watching other people interact with each other. It's how I've learned to blend in, learn how people communicate with each other.

But that was not the scene I ran up on.

Instead I see a black haired woman crying and screaming as she runs into a building that looks like a church.

I cock my head to the side and walk closer. Do religious people usually cry and scream before going into a church? Because I'm not sure my vocal cords could hold a scream.

I'm not even sure on the concept of God himself. Surely I didn't deserve the life of punishments and bloodshed. Right? No one of such high power would watch a child be shredded all because others didn't believe his faith?