Yard of Graves

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The emotions and sensations of one young girl among thousands who have experienced abuse.

Submitted: January 10, 2012

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Submitted: January 10, 2012

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The girl in the shower is just like the girl in the rain. Free to cry, exposed and empty. Everything once inside her falls out around her and drips off of her like water. Things she has seen bleed from her mind and leak out of her through her eyes in the form of warm and black tears, streaked with the mascara she put on this morning to impress the boy who left the scars. Scars. Her body is bruised, but her heart cannot blot and heal itself with time. The heart does not know time, does not trust time, like the body does so well. Soap and water and rain and time will never make her feel clean again. Beauty blinded, took, and destroyed. A cycle that will run for as long as she lives, memories never leaving her at peace. Peace. The strangeness of the thought now confuses her more than the pain. The pain made her feel something for the first time, and who was she to know if that feeling was not love. Well, at least the girl in the shower learned one thing: that beauty is just a thin film that covers the most hideous hearts. Beauty of this world, in this life, is never to be trusted. It is like the thin cotton sleeves that hide her arms in the daytime, or her long hair that falls and twists around her neck and shoulders and back, covering places where evidence of beauty’s deceit lies. She begins to make mental lists of things not to say, places not to go, people to avoid so that she will never have to come more face to face with what has happened than when she stands in the shower, as if in the rain in a field near the heavens, as close to judgment as she will ever be.

If we are not careful, what is dead and gone dawdles in our minds, creeps into our lives and consumes us. When I was young, I never felt more alive than when I walked on the gravel roads through the cemetery near my house. It was not the standard eerie cemetery most kids hear about in movies or on TV. I was not afraid of it. At least four or five different types of trees grew throughout it. Cypresses, Sycamores, Maples, and White Oaks. It was an exceptionally large cemetery, even considering that I was rather small myself, and it's hills rolled on and on with only a few flat parts for continuous rows of headstones or ground plaques. However, the trouble with graveyards is that they must keep expanding. Week by week. Month by month. I suppose that’s how that graveyard got so big in the first place.

 


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