Outside now, the air had a crispness to it that tickles my nose and makes me shiver. As the heavy for closes behind me, I hear the bell ring to dismiss class. Do I turn back and go in, or do I just keep going? I pause for a moment, not to just to think about my decision, but also to put on my sweater. Where is my sweater? I turn and open the door to find it in the middle of the hallway, within the sea of people. I catch the eye of a few people in the hall, but I quickly look away. I leave it behind and proceed to walk down the broken stairs of this school. Leaving it, along with other memories, behind.
I walk down the stairs, putting the school farther and farther behind me. I hear the sound of voice behind me, not loud, but they were still there. I block then out, just like I've been doing for most of school, and even at home. It's the reason I hate this jail, I mean school. I don't think anyone understand exactly how much I hate school. It's not just the dust covered cabinets or the crowded lunchrooms, it's the environment, the people, the dead feeling.
I turn onto the sidewalk and I can hear the leaves under my feet, crunching with every step. The colors of red and yellow blue into one as I stare into the leaves still stuck on the trees. Why are they still stuck? Are they too scared to take a chance and let go? Do they like being up there so much they don't want to try something new? Have they, in a sense, given up? I watch as the wind carries a leaf of one of the trees that lined the sidewalk and puts out in my path to be stepped on. I pick up the leaf and turn it over in my hand. Ours one of those leaves that reminds you of the warn winter nights in front of the fireplace. The yellow to red transition was better than anything I could ask for, better than any artist could paint. I shove the leaf in my pocket and proceed to walk home.
*TRIGGER WARNING*
What felt like hours later, I reach the stairs of a house that from the outside, looked like all the other a but the inside was a completely different story. You would have never known about the late night fights, the holes in the wall from dodged punches or thrown objects that missed their intended targets. The tears shed from watching abuse to trying to protect ourselves from it. The pain felt from having to remain silent as to not be hit out worse, disowned. The laughs faked to make it appear as though everything was okay. The awkward moments of silence followed by screams, followed by crying, followed by sirens. Having to worry if we were going to be next in the chain of abuse. Do we leave a way for her to escape, run to us, and risk our lives? Or do we barricade the door to protect ourselves?
