The Memory of Violent Violation Personified | Teen Ink

The Memory of Violent Violation Personified

September 4, 2011
By ShaynaPhelps SILVER, Minneapolis, Minnesota
ShaynaPhelps SILVER, Minneapolis, Minnesota
7 articles 0 photos 25 comments

I was only a little girl. I can’t escape it, can you understand? It’s me. Everything I do, it is mirrored. A reflection of the little girl inside of me, the little girl, lost, cold, and bleeding. I wish I could heal her, kill her, forget her, erase her, anything to get away from her. But I can’t she is still here, blood stained tears falling upon her blackened, night cheeks. She says nothing only stares. Her dead and clammy hands fall upon the ends of her chair, clawing the arm rests, her legs rest splayed open, as her body lays flung on the chair. Her empty, bony ribcage raises up and down, unnatural, in-human, with the rhythm of her dead heart. Her hair falls away with clumps; clumps that litter the floor around her deathly throne. He eyes stare blankly, unseeingly, large, swollen, corpse-like. Her mouth gapes open, and is filled with rotting teeth. Her body is riddled with wounds, and blood leaks to puddles on the ground. The puddles that join and smother the clumps of hair. She is always here, staring, accusing, and silent. While I sleep, while I eat, while I shower. Always here. I wish I could burn her corpse throne, and burn her rotten teeth, and decaying flesh. Send her to the bowels of he**, where her and all of her memories and pain, lie forgotten and harmless, this is where I would like to send her, but instead she resides here, right here in my heart, where she lies murdering me.
I was only a little girl. It lies dormant in my heart, can you see it? Can you feel it? The aching isolation running rampant through my veins. A tumor that has grown so large, it cannot be cut from my body, lest I bleed to death, yet I fear I have already began bleeding; dying. A sickness so severe, my whole soul struggles under the weight of it, blinding me, numbing me, erasing me. A blackened night and cloud of impenetrable numbness. Here I am I wish to say, but this, this sickness quickly and stealthy silences me and forces my face into a fake smile and my voice into a fake laugh, controlling me and binding me, manipulating, and destroying me. I’m at the edge of a great precipice and there is a solid wall of nothing-ness around me, nothing to stop me from slipping in, from flinging my body over the edge. A bittersweet escape, a bittersweet end, but this clinging, sagging weight, stops me. Not even can I offer myself death as solace. I feel so alone, so bitterly alone.
I was only a little girl. I see her, tears in her eyes. She still sits crowned on her gothic throne. I brave a step forward. I see her; I smell her, her rotten teeth, her gnarled limbs, her entangled hair. I stop; fear floods my body. I cannot approach her, but she is watching and waiting. I’m waiting. I run forward, I climb the throne, and take the little girl by her arms, and I wrap her around me so tightly. For a moment the smell crawls inside of my nose, choking me, killing me. Then, I feel the shudder of life, of newness beside me. I step back to peer at the deathly girl. I see her eyes, the blood running down them. The blood turns to tears, human tears, tears that bathe her face clean. Her hair snarled and entangled, begins to unwind, glistening and glowing. Her body becomes whole, flesh reinstated, full and solid. I see now for the first time, the pain that was masked by her hostile appearance. The half dead corpse comes back to me, full and whole, a little girl. The throne disintegrates into ashes, blown away by the wind, fresh and glistening, blades of grass run anew across the barren ground creating a lush and bright carpet. Her clothes become whole and shining. Tears run down my face, with searing hotness, cauterizing my wounds. I wrap my arms around the girl, the girl with tears in her eyes. I see her wounds and sadness; I see that they mirror my own. I cry out, sobs tearing my throat, that I forgive her. She winds her little arms around me. Our tears become one, as our bodies melt, like melodies into one another. She whispers into my ear that she forgives me too, and all at once she is gone. No more decay, no more rotting, no more blood. I wrap my arms around myself and feel the tingling and searing of my soul repairing its wounds and fractures. I breathe in deeply, filling my lungs with fresh, cool air, and wind plays across my cheek. For the first time, I have begun to heal. For the first time, I can breathe. I sigh and rest my head upon my knees. After all she was only a little girl too.

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