Angelica
She just survived the inferno of her step-father and is ever ready to move on with her life. Is she?
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The school bell rings. She picks up her bag and heads out. Every one rushed past her. She stands there staring into the corridor jammed with children her age or less just running about and happy to head home. She feels the familiar sense of loneliness. A very heavy feeling of tiredness engulfs her. She is not ready to head home.
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She is good. She is important. She doesn't know that and she doesn't believe it. She is starting at herself in the mirror. She sees two blue eyes. They are empty. She sees another girl staring back at her. It is she and she knows. She doesn't believe it.
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Her house looks the same. Dirty. Her house smells the same. Dirty. No one is seen but someone is watching her. The house protects and preaches. Not her, she thought. She is safe no where.
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Her hands are held down, her knees are held down. He moves in and out of her but she feels nothing. The body can endure to a limit then it accepts the pain as a familiar. No tears roll down today, no struggle today. She accepts. She simply doesn't care.
She is beaten one more time but she gives back nothing. She simply doesn't care.
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She is sitting on the beach. The sand withstands her weight. She buries her palms in the sand as a sign of shame. She wished it were her head.
Why?
Her legs are wet. A sweet feeling. The aroma of the sea fills her nose.
Solace.
Her torso is wet. A sweet feeling. The cool breeze drifts through her hair.
Angie.
You are a Rose amongst Thorns.
She goes down and down and down and down. She feels nothing. She simply doesn't care
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YOU ARE READING
Jachlydia
Historia CortaA woman is a fruit. A woman is a flower. A woman is the gentle tree that bears all. A woman is the wave that's ashes our sorrows deep into the ocean. The worthless, such as us, do not see that she is the re incarnation of God. She is the whole world...
