Stuffed Animals are scarred with tears, blood, and memories.
But most of all, they watch you grow.
Love.
Kill.
This is Naya's life, through the eyes of a stuffed Polar Bear.
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The preeminent golden child, preened to perfection. The ulti...
The funeral was the very next week. Everyone dressed in purple to honor your mother. It immediately became your least favorite color.
When we got home, your dad slapped you in the face. Apparently it was your fault; if you had come minutes earlier, your mother would still be alive.
You didn't know why your dad hit you, but it hurt.
Days passed. Days full of pinching, slapping and kicking.
Your once pale skin became turned into a canvas of reds, purples, yellows and greens.
Freedom only seen when your father had to go manage his empire of a business. Nannies came and went, each stating that you were a freak child who refused to speak.
And then you got her.
A woman in her late thirties, Aileen. She became the mother figure that you needed.
She even let you bake with her.
Your voice appeared in the form of laughs and songs.
I daresay she was a better mother than your own.
But she never asked about your bruises. She couldn't, or your father would kill her brother, the only family she had left.
She rarely spoke English, an Arabic immigrant. You quickly became fluent in her mother tongue.
She would always smile despite what was happening. She even fed me and dressed me up, fixing my nose back on when it fell off.
But when the night fell, Aileen and all the other staff would leave, leaving you with your father. Who coated you in a fresh paint of red.
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