demons

1.6

1.6

BOSTON

her flaws

eat her alive

-

"Have you heard anything from Jonathon?" Charlie asked Jordyn, who hadn't really been talking much. She was in shock, complete disbelief that she came face to face with her brother.

I can still remember when she would bring him up to her mother and she would just kind of shut down. I don't think I had any brothers or sisters, like I said my parents abandoned me, so if I had any siblings, I don't know of them, or anything about them.

"What?" she said, her voice quiet. She cleared it and spoke up louder, "What?"

"Jonathon," Abbi said to the girl, "Any news?"

Jordyn shook her head, "Haven't seen him since the day that Hope and Ella..." she trailed off.

"Yeah," Abbi nodded, knowing that her brother was a sensivite subject to her. I'm sure it would be for anyone, just imagine that situation. Abbi had been with the seven kids since the day Hope and Ella both went down. She had been looking up research on telekinesis and she had been practicing. No one knew this.

It was working though.

Let's move on to a different subject now.

Every poem I have ever written has been meant for something specific towards these kids. This particular one seems kind of random, what flaws? Well Wendy's flaws.

Wendy knew she had her flaws but there was one flaw that ate her alive. It made her feel so out of place with everything and that flaw was her hand.

Well her prosthetic hand.

A while back she hurt her hand after she moved in with Charlie. From all the stress of her mother being taken to rehab and her little sister committing suicide along with Charlie coming back to town after leaving with no explanation for the summer, she felt like the world was crumbling down on her.

There was a loud sound and Charlie went into the guest room that night to check what it was and she found Wendy, clutching her hand, blood coming down from her knuckles.

Why didn't she go to a doctor? Let me explain why.

She had her drug habits, popping pills, things of that sort and she was afraid that the doctors would find out so she never went and every day she regrets not going.

Her hand is now not hers, but a prosthetic hand. She wears a black glove over it so she doesn't have to see it, it reminds me her of all the dumb decisions that she made and it haunts her, every day.

Wendy was in the bathroom, staring at her "hand." The glove sat on the sink and with her good hand, she touched her fake one. It was such a foreign feeling, she could still remember waking up and staring at it, the drop in her stomach and the bile that rose in her throat.

"Wendy," she heard a knock at the door, "It's Abbi, I have to pee like really bad."

Abbi twisted the knob and walked inside and felt her eyes widen as she stared at Wendy's hand. Wendy never showed her hand to anyone, because they all did that, the jaw drop, the widened eyes, the pathetic "i'm so sorry's," it annoyed her.

"Look all you want," Wendy grabbed her glove and put it back on, "I have a fake hand."

She pushed past Abbi, bumping her shoulder in the process and ignored everyone as they asked her where she was going or if she was okay.