Her face, overflowing with sudden bouts of shaky expressions was stained by a torrent of sour tears cascading down her pasty white cheeks. Her eyes were soft yet in a subtle way, broken. Allison had never seen Emily cry. For Allison, Emily had always been her pillar of strength, her valiant conqueror of heartache. If she could with a sword in hand fight off the demons that haunted Allison’s dreams, why is it that now, she is helplessly consumed by sorrow? Lending an unsure ear, Allison braced herself for impact.
It ended in one word, orphanage. Like cheap cargo, Allison would be roughly rattled and shipped to what the hospital director had said would be “the best Georgia has to offer.” Her hands had collided with her face poorly hiding the tears making their way on stage. She wanted to believe that she were invisible. If only sorrow was simply an act, she could close curtains and request that the show be canceled. She wanted anything, anyone to grab her by the hand and run. Anywhere would be better then her exposure to hope’s delusional toxins. Where hope had been found, misfortune never failed to impose. It was not that she had been given the good and the bad; it was that along the way the good had forgotten where to find her.
Allison’s hands fell flaccid at her waist while she prepared to gather the shattered remains of her character. Her eyes now washing over the violent sway of the trees, followed the eventful sky hoping that she be struck dead by lightning. It was not until her eyes had meet the brilliant burst of lights peek from under the passing clouds, had something about this storm felt familiar. For the first time had she felt something of her past. It paid no mind to sensitivity and at every chance attempted to make itself heard. At first she felt strongly inspired by fear, but as the rain fell, gushing out from any unfilled hole, she felt certain that her past deserved a voice.
