TAKEN: From a Prisoner to a star

16

"We are all blessed, but the problem is that some of us count their blessings while others count their struggles, challenges and obstacles."

― Edmond Mbiaka

Beyonce POV

I let my finger roam over each picture gently, feeling the energy seep out from the photos and transfer onto me. The feeling burning the tip of my finger and it's clean nail. I could just about stand the sight in front of me where I stared at the faces of the girls who all went missing. I could almost see the pictures moving: Diana and Katrina's hair blowing fiercely in the wind, Laura looking back at her mother who laughed at her daughter as they walked through the park; Latavia sleeping over at my house forcing my parents to watch us sing. 

Each face provoked a different emotion in me, emotions I didn't want to feel but couldn't run away from. The memories of the times I had seen the girls all flooding back into my mind as I felt the pain their parents felt at the sight of their dead bodies. Apparently, Tianna was found and all of her hair had been cut off. Jenna was found piece by piece and Annabell was found pregnant, naked out on the streets running for help but she died a few moments later. So did her baby. Why was I the one who made it out alive? Why did I need to survive? How could they just die? 

When someone dies it feels like a part of you has just been ripped out, your heart hearts. If you've ever lost someone of any importance then you know what it feels like. You can't ignore it, you can't ignore the helplessness... or the guilt. You can't help but say 'if only' over and over again. You can't stop the tears and you can't stop the thoughts. The thought of how you wish it was you instead, the thoughts about how much promise they had, the thoughts about your last moments or their smile. The smile that never leaves your mind. 

Other people, like me, posses the most unwanted skill where they feel all of that pain not just for people they loved but people they barely knew because you know someone else is hurting that exact same way. You know that no one should ever be alone in grief. 

If you're one of those people- don't worry. You're not alone either. 

I breathed out slowly, watching the papers on the notice board move in reply to my breath. I blinked once, feeling another hot salty tear roll down my face. I gulped. 

"I'm sorry" I whispered, "It's my fault. It's all my fault" I added. I knew It was true, there was no denying it, I had finally realised why Solange hated me so much. "how could he do this?" By now there was more than just one tear drop:  a river of them flooding down my face as I fell to the church floor on my knees crying. "Why did he do it?" I asked no one in particular, "I didn't mean for this to happen but it's my fault isn't it? People who were around me were the people who got hurt. It's all my fault. Then I just placed the cherry on top by going out and getting myself kidnapped. I'm so sorry. I didn't know but I should have known. How could I be so stupid? He was following me for so long. So so long. He knew where I was going to be, he looked at me funny, he touched me." I let my head fall onto the floor as I cried, "he hurt me, but not nearly as much as he hurt them. Why couldn't I die instead. Me. Not them. Why?" I asked God, hoping for some sort of answer. 

"Because God put you on this planet for a reason, he wanted you to do something special. You haven't done that yet, so you must stay here." My mother emerged from the darkness looking like the goddess she had always been. Her hair and make up was perfect, he skin was glowing. But her eyes were sad, and so were mine. There was no hiding that. 

"Neither had they, they were just kids. They didn't deserve any of that" I stood up from the ground and wiped my eyes, this was no time to be on the floor crying. Why should I be crying anyway? If it wasn't for me then who knows, maybe they'd still be alive. Maybe Solange would be happy. Maybe my parents would be happy. Maybe.