Hit List

Her

Inspired by lyrics from Lincoln Lim's "HER"
*Author's note: This story goes out to anyone, regardless of sexuality, illnesses, and other forms of social stigma, who are currently facing struggles that challenge their very own identity. I wish to increase awareness around the world, to better understand each other, and respect every individual's rights to achieve their hopes and dreams. Lets cherish each other's lives; there is hope out there.
(This story can be read in any struggling character viewpoint. You can also read it in reverse)

Turning the handle, she slid the lipstick across her soft rosy lips. She looks so beautiful.

Her mother, with tears in her eyes, prepared her daughter for the next phase in life. The father choked on hypocrisy outside the church.

Sinners and liars gather around. They spoke of the good in her. They said they had felt guilt, pain, regret for her loss. They made her existence something of worth. But it was all too late for her to hear.

A rope, a knife, and a bucket of tears. Her body swayed in the warm dim light. Just like the candle under the dried midnight oil, she went off in a gentle silent flicker. The men of authority stood in the doorway.

She had nowhere to run, and nowhere else to hide.

The girls despised her existence. The boys disrespected her. Her parents didn't want to call her their daughter. The stigma from the path she chose was too much to bear. She couldn't change the way she was. She couldn't fight for her own rights. She never wanted to be punished for being someone she was born as.

Locker room stares; canteen gossip. She was nothing but a means to a subject that anyone she thought had cared, could laugh about. No one would give her any form of slack, reminding her of the mistakes she never made. Her secrets were no longer secrets, her identity a stain in the fabric of everyone's reality. Photos of her in a dress spread like wildfire, her first kiss with a boy – also a social taboo.

School life basically serves as a substitute for distraction other than watching drama series all alone in the dark at home. It was also a slight getaway from the abuse she suffers behind closed doors. She walks around, nothing but a warm- blooded zombie, avoiding attention from wandering eyes. "This is not any better", she thought to herself, as she scrambles from class to class.

Hearing the dreaded footsteps approaching her bedroom door, she promptly eats the stain off her dry chapped lips, and dives straight into her long overdue work. The man stands in her doorway, clocking in and out with forced authority. She ignores him, seemingly staying focused, but in reality, she was fighting the harsh anxiety. The fear of privacy being compromised, her life being taken under control, the feelings that her opinions weren't even her own, were all too familiar.

She burns her midnight oil, a small white candle placed perfectly in the center, beneath its porcelain roof. Bliss and peace, she sways within a dim lit room. The warm lights found it's way to her soft, scarred skin. Caressing herself, she wishes for things no one she knows approves of. Basic love and trust was a taste she had long forgotten.

Smacking her lips together, she oozes confidence and vanity, exclusive only to the one person staring back at her. There was no way she would ever get the chance to openly show her self discovered beauty. Regret haunted her innocent soul.

Turning the handle, she slid the lipstick across her soft rosy lips. She looks so beautiful.

~end~