Fiona [Original Work]

Be Heard

It became routine, leaning on her balcony in her pastel-pink nightgown, gazing at the beauty of nighttime. Her shimmering grey eyes reflect the starry heavens, a thoughtful expression on her youthful features illuminated by the whimsical glow of starlight. Her sandy-blonde waves cascade down her back, resembling a waterfall of liquid gold.

The balcony is her escape, where she retreats from her parent's fighting and her elder brother's cigarette smoke. Perhaps once upon a time could she save them all from themselves, but that was when she had the power to do so. She lost that power moons ago, on the eve of her somethingth birthday. Her voice had turned brittle, and it shattered into minuscule specks, unusable to anyone.

It felt like years ago when that dreadful realization came to her, that she could no longer giggle or sing. She had cried for days, yet not even a wheeze could be heard coming from her cherry lips. She had become an observer from that day on, an observer of her own life.

Her eyes dart to the alleyway below, where she sees another child, this time a boy a little younger than herself disappear into an eerie, black vehicle. His cries are silent too. If it was up to her, she would say something, scream to her parents even, yet she couldn't, and he couldn't. The poor guy would just end up another news story leaving the adults wondering "What is happening to this world?".

Though not every bit of the stormy-eyed girl's reality was that bad. She had an ally, a buddy, a bestie, a friend. The girl didn't know her name, though, so she called her friend Penelope, after her favorite stuffed, purple elephant. If she truly thought about it, Penelope was indeed an elephant, afraid of mice and taller than their teacher.

Penelope was the main reason why she enjoyed going to school so much. They would exchange playful glances when the teacher's zipper was down, as well as challenge each other to a mean game of Chinese checkers at recess.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly opens the door to be greeted with the foul smell of rotting chicken meat and the even fouler sight of her parents charging each other with various kitchen utensils. Sighing, she breezily slides past their violent antics and past her eighteen year old brother's room where another pleasant aroma seeped through the crack under his door. A scent the small blonde would prefer not to think about.

Whereas the balcony is her sanctuary, her bedroom is her prison. Trapped by blank, bland walls with a blank, bland bed, and a blank bland desk. The whole room screamed gloom. If it was up to the girl, she would have a bold, different color on every wall. An electric aqua on the one above her bed, a hot pink on the closet's side, a lemon yellow next to her desk, and a lime green on the window wall. She would add Christmas lights to add more sparkle, and there was nothing that she wanted more than a real beanbag chair. But alas, in this world, you only get what you want if you ask for it, and that thought alone was enough to bring her mood even lower than it already was. Begrudgingly, she wiggles under the sheets of her meticulously made bed, her now dull, grey eyes staring at the blank ceiling above her. How she wished she had those sticky glow-in-the-dark stars above her bed to arrange in interesting patterns. She drifts to sleep thinking of constellations.

The next morning she wakes up to the sound of a distant scream, the sound of yet another crime she couldn't report. Her grey eyes meet the grey ceiling, morning teardrops involuntarily gathering in them. She wipes the crusty tears away with minimal effort, and she is greeted once again with that same blank ceiling. Sitting up, she gives a silent yawn before hopping on the grubby carpet of her bedroom.

A Monday. A day she would be expected to go to school and listen to adults try to teach them information about the world, but she can't help but wonder how could people so ignorant and violent even try to be informative. At least Penelope will be there, though. She glances at the old, nubby plush on her desk before finally closing her splintery door.