“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.” r13; Haruki Murakami
We live in world full of hate, loneliness, and insecurity. But we also live in a world full of love, happiness, and fulfillment. But there are some of us who have only been through only the hard parts. The parts that kill us from the inside and then it kills you on the outside. You not only hate the world, but you start to hate yourself to a point that nothing can save you, not even yourself.
I’m situated on my bed, my room aphotic, considering the thought that I always have, the thought of leaving, and never coming back.
“Chloe,” my father yelled from downstairs, “soccer is in fifteen minutes.”
I move upwards, hearing my sun kissed skin against my magenta sheets. I look at my badly damaged wrists, and sigh. I need to wear a long sleeved shirt for practice.
I pace over to my caramel colored closet, and open the wide doors. I move past the clothes on the rack until I see my beryl colored soccer shorts. I make sure that they are still long, passed my finger length, so no one can see the sparkling cuts on my thighs. I stride to my drawers and pull the blanched handle back and I take out my cinereal long sleeved shirt.
I race towards my bed and drop the clothes onto my king sized bed. I peel off my clothes leaving my skin showing. My mind wanders as I aimlessly walk over to my mirror.
I scowl in disgust at my body. Its funny how no matter how hard I try to be perfect, I get no where. I want to be beautiful. I want to feel beautiful.
I race over to my bed almost in tears and pull on the clothes. Then I brush my fingers through my long chestnut colored tangles and take my hair and pin it up into a high ponytail and get my belongings and hustle down my wooden staircase keeping a watchful eye on where I step. I stop until I’m at the end of the staircase and inhale a small breath. My disconsolate expression replaces with a false smile.
“Dad?”
“What?” I hear his hard footsteps moving against the floor until I see the top of his head. His dark chestnut hazel hair wet from a recent shower.
“Are you going to bring me?”
“Mhm.”
I look away from him and wander off to the kitchen.
I pull the white handle of the refrigerator and pull out a frosty water bottle. I remove the cap and place the water bottle to my lips. Just then my mother comes bustling in and murmurs a ‘move’ and pushes me to the side, the clear odorless liquid splashing all over the floor and all over my granite shirt.
“I JUST CLEANED THE FLOOR!”
She storms over to me and grips my tangles in between her long pale fingers. She violently pulls my hair and shoves me to the wet wooden floor, a shoot of pain rising up my arms. She kicks, punches, and slaps me until she hears my whimpers getting louder.
“SHUT UP YOU DISGUSTING PIG!”
She furiously kicks me two times more before she marches out the room. I don’t make any effort to move until I hear the sound of her footsteps lowering. I know she’s going to go tell my dad now. I hear my dad coming towards the kitchen. He walks in and scoffs.
“You’re disgraceful.” He says and walks out.
I pick myself up, slight whimpers escaping my mouth again. I hobble to the closest bathroom. I open the door and look in the mirror. There aren’t any marks evident on my face but my hair is all over the place. I pry off my hair tie and brush my fingers through my thick hair and once again put it up into a high ponytail. I grab the coral colored towel and bring it to my shirt and try my best to make it dry a little quicker. When it looks a bit dryer, I check my body for marks. I can tell that there are bruises forming, but none of them visible unless you remove my clothing. I fix myself up to how I had looked before and leave the room.
I walk around my house trying to find my father. I don’t see him anywhere. I walk outside and look up. I think clear night skies look mysterious, eerie, calm, tranquil, but most of all entrancing. I can't help but look at them and wonder if I will ever get to enjoy this with someone else. But someone who thinks of the sky like I do. Someone who thinks it has purpose.
I find my short peace come to a stop as I hear my father calling my name to go to the car.
I stroll over to the car and open the maroon door of my family’s Acura MDX. The car smells good, like fresh peaches off the tree. I press the black button that opens the window and the breeze rushes against my face, making me feel relaxed.
