I think I'm crazy. Memories of life before the creation of the Sun start to hunt me. I was 10 years old when we moved to the radius. Previously, we lived on the outskirts of a large city, that was demolished during a war, in a small, modest—one could say pitifully poor—house in the middle of the district with the greatest ethnic diversity. We lived in a concrete city in a concrete house among people with concrete hearts. I was afraid to leave the house after dark. I was afraid to leave the house at all. After the war, everyone was unbelievably cruel to each other.
I remember one day, when I was 9 years old, I left home to go to the store. I remember clearly that I went out to get some sugar. I remember because I didn't come back with it. I left the house as the sun was touching the horizon. I turned the street corner and saw it—something I will never forget for the rest of my life (or I thought I wouldn't forget) , something that haunted my nightmares every day. It left a scar on my brain so painful that it hurts to this day. A group of black people had hanged my neighbor from a tree. Mrs. Sato was an approximately 50-year-old Asian woman who strongly supported brutal attacks on black people during the war. But I found this out long after I saw what they did to her. She was hanged from distant branches by ropes attached to her wrists. Her ankles were tied in the same way. She was wearing only white underwear stained with blood. Her throat had been cut, and her head was hanging from her neck as if by a thread. Beneath her frail body stood two black men who were carving into the tree the inscription "Sato, who was killed by her hatred." Much later, I found out what terrible things my neighbor had done. But then, I was only 9 years old, and I saw how another man hung her on a tree like an animal's skin. I immediately ran home. I never entered that street again. I was afraid to look anyone in the eye after seeing Mrs. Sato, so I decided to fill myself with that image to defend myself, to always remember what people can do.
I rushed back home. My mama was gone, and my father was sleeping. I ran into the room, and Noah, who was 12 years old at the time, jumped at me and hugged me through tears and panic. I only stammered unintelligible words. But he helped me. He always helped me. And I couldn't help him.
Helpless.
YOU ARE READING
THE DREAM CATCHER
Gizem / GerilimA BOY WHO ALWAYS FELT AND WANTS TO STOP FEELING. A GIRL WHO NEVER FELT AND WANTS TK START FEELING. ~ For everyone, who thought they shouldn't feel. ,,If I could I would spend my whole life in a dream."
