They sprawl on bunk beds with bags of candy, and the smartphones they smuggled into summer camp. They paint their nails and talk about the boys that have grabbed their asses during slow dances or asked for nudes. "We're bad girls," they say, smirking and tossing flat- iron- scalded hair over their shoulders.
The wallflower smiles politely, something acidic eating at her insides. She curls up with a notebook, writing love notes to her boyfriend back home.
She is a writer,
these letters are multiple paged testimonies and epics, they are sonorous and unfeigned, they are from the deepest crevices of her heart.
"Wait, you have a boyfriend? Is he cute?" They have noticed her now. She tells them something about the boy.
Late at night, little pieces of the masquerade fall away
and the quiet cool night drags out giggles and confessions and dumb conversations like it always seems to do. "Guys, I haven't even been felt up yet," one of the girls admits glumly.
The wallflower cannot join in
she clutches a flashlight, a notebook, a pencil. The darkest times of her life are upon her now, and tears are damp in her eyes for the first time in years. Her hand flies across the paper, scrawling out something she has never dared say,
a letter never to be sent-
why did you do it
don't tell me the years between us are what
moved your hands.
I just wanted to show my parents
that I can handle myself
and you had to go and prove them wrong,
so cruel, love,
and
I want to burn every inch of my violated body
tell me, WHY
once we have gone, we can never turn back,
and I didn't even want to,
and I am trapped far away from the world of sweet innocence
peering forlornly between prison bars at a world
that everyone scorns,
but I long to return to.
I was only 13,
I had only just hurtled into the teenage world
I hadn't even set foot in a high school yet
and you had the nerve--
But her feelings (loneliness) have taken the place of her self respect
and she closes her notebook, the letter to be buried for six months. She is still crying,
and wondering how this happened
YOU ARE READING
Death and Other Fun Stuff (#Wattys2015)
Storie breviA collection of short stories and poems- science fiction, horror, and fantasy- gathered from the depths of my notebooks. From chilling to electrifying, from thrilling to gruesome... this is a sneak peak at the different corners and crevices of my mi...
