Silent Storms

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What's your name?, he writes on his window. I don't know why he tries to talk to me. I can't. I can't talk to anyone but them.

I can't talk to you, I write back, I'm not allowed to.

Even though it's exactly what I'm doing. Even though I know the consequences of it. But this boy intrigues me. He doesn't know me and I don't know him but...he wants to know me.

No one ever wants to know me. All they see is a pretty face with a pretty smile on it, and they think to themselves, "What a pretty girl."

They don't see the bruises on my body. On my soul. They can't see them. No one can. They don't know how hard it is for me to close my eyes and not wake up in the middle of the night terrified of my own thoughts. Because they said if I tell anyone about what happens in here, then they'd kill me. For real, this time.

It's like a storm. A silent one. You can't hear it, and if you don't want to see it, then it's like nothing's wrong. But if you actually look at the sky, you can see what's going on.

But once inside, the screams don't stop. My screams. Neither does the begging. No. It's a relentless torture. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Wash.

Rinse.

Repeat.

When will my silent storm end?

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Copyright © 2019 by N. N. Willow.
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