Drowned out

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story of what you may find in some parts of a racist, homophobic, sexist world.

Submitted: March 06, 2016

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Submitted: March 06, 2016



You are the one to discover the mystery of the universe.
You have no money to pay for your education, or at least, your parents don’t. You are 5. You will have to learn how to read and write from your parents as the nurseries will not take you on without payment.
You are 7 and begin to go to a public school. they bully you as you can’t afford lunch and have to bring in stale sandwiches. They’re just jealous, they have a large serving of mould today.
In growing years you begin to study and read well beyond your standards set by your teachers. They aren’t happy, you must stay in line and learn at the same pace as everyone else in your class. They rip up your over-complicated piece of writing and give you an F.
You begin to feel victimized for being smart, and rightfully so.
You age more, and hormones begin to kick in around the age of 10. Everyone around you are children and you are not. You’re mature now you have bled for the first time.
Your parents are working 2 jobs each to keep you on your feet: you mother, a job in retail and putting that degree to use as a nurse, while getting just over $9 an hour in both, 50 hours a week. Your father, a job in a pharmacy and in a hotel, again, just over $9 an hour, roughly 40 hours a week.
You believe this to be hateful, and think to protest but realize: who and what in the world would listen to a 10-year-old? You also realize they probably won’t listen because you’re female. You’re also dark skinned.
You leave for middle school and begin to find that smartness is a sin.
They would teach you things you learned through endless hours in the library each afternoon. They sometimes ignore your hand, raising to every question. You’re called a snob, a nerd, a slut, a kissass. It begins to wear down and you stop raising your hand.
At 12, your first partner comes along. He’s tall and thin and has a shy personality. You heard he liked you and decided to ask him out because he could never bring himself to do it. His name is Daniel and you continuously ask why you dated him.
He’s nice, on the outside. You would never be able to foresee who he was on the inside.
On your 13th birthday, you were raped.
You try to tell somebody, but your parents are working and the teachers don’t care. You seek the consolation of the books of your childhood.
You would proceed to read and read until the entire library was read from front to cover. Fiction, non-fiction, study books and tales of a detective - every single one was read, title to the blurb.
Alas, the scar on your mind was ever-growing and with every word of boys, the gash deepened.
That’s when you met Felice.
A small girl, sometimes extroverted, sometimes introverted. You could never truly work her out. She would never talk behind your back or spread rumours. You knew this as she wouldn’t to anyone else. You would vent to her, and her to you. She had a similar story.
You turn 15 and suddenly the gash closes. You recall traumatic moments of clothes ripping and scratches up your arm, but the scars didn’t make you cry anymore.
Felice would help you through, and you became less scared of the male gender. You became ever-loving to the female. You became in love with one. You fell in love with Felice.
Alas, school work can not be slipped. Every night, from 4 till 6 you would revise every word the teachers had said and remember every single one, absorbing their words like a sponge. Although you knew the topics, they would also help as to give you extra support when needed.
Respect for teachers had been momentarily restored.
Alas, lost. They would still scold you for writing something they didn’t understand. Your English teacher would praise you, but she was the only one.
You discover you’re a lesbian and try to keep it secret. Nothing’s ever a secret in middle school. People found out about you. People found out about Felice.
You decide to keep your distance and allow the bullies to walk off after they were done screaming at you. It tore another hole in you, but you didn’t mind.
Socially, you were amazing. You would never spread rumours, never tell tales, never give people hate. You were not a bad person. People made you like that.
You begin to write.
You write about your life. A life you believed to be faulty, but as you did, you realized there was nothing wrong with you. Day after day you would uncover that your ‘faults’ were actually entirely given to you. The only reason they hate is because they’re ignorant.
You discover this and feel on top of the world.
When you do, the teachers start asking questions.
“Is it because of those books?” they would ask, “Is it because of your incident?” They didn’t understand sexuality isn’t a choice. They, too, were ignorant.
In this world, you had to stay away from your best friend, your family, who were still working as hard as they could to keep you alive, as well as themselves, and even your teachers. You felt solitary.
One day, when you’re 16, Felice touches your shoulder and lures you away to an unseen corner and sits down with you. She would ask you if the rumours were true. She would ask if you’re okay. She would make sure you’re okay. She would touch your cheek, pull close and taste your lips. You would turn bright red and nuzzle your head into your hands and kiss her back.
They would find out, but it wouldn’t be as bad as last time. Felice is popular and has a good reputation. You don’t, but that doesn’t matter because she’d make you a good reputation. You loved her for that.
When 17, you would learn of universe theories. Of course, you knew of them before, but no serious thought would be displayed. You thought nothing of them. Alas, your wandering mind got bored. You would research. You would solve.
Alas, this knowledge would reside in your notebook for years.
The words will never be shared.

When you’re 20, American lives were changed. You took to the streets, cheered, you were happier than you had ever been. Your flag rises. It’s proud. Felice kissed you. She lowered herself. You considered doing the same.
You were engaged.

You will find yourself, walking down the road. It was a Monday. You were 23. The sun was shining grandly, proudly, you think.
Your hands hold a booklet full of knowledge, the meanings, the reasons, the solved mysteries the world should know.
You intend to show someone your work today.
It’s prior to midday and your heart pumps as if a hammer against a rock. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Your head is against the wall. White hands and blue sleeves pat you down. You ‘look suspicious’.
Your heart races and murmured words mutter from your mouth, all obscure and muddled.
Papers flutter from your hand to the ground. a few beads of blood find their surface as your hands reach the bricks of the wall. You don’t notice.
Your heartbeat in your ears reminds you you’re alive.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Your hands stop struggling. They’re pulled behind your back. Withheld.
You fall to the ground and beg to be allowed out. You cry, not loudly. It’s all you can do.
A cold to the head. A glint in his eye.
Bang. Bang. Bang.

Did he really ‘fear for his life’?

Felise attends your funeral. She’s crying. Sobbing. The diamond lies upon her bedside table.
You will never wear it.
You will never tell the world who you are, what you found. You may not have succeeded in solving cancer, but mysteries of the universe still reside in your notebook. Solved, waiting to be found.
If only you could change everything.

This was a story of what happens every day. Black lives, innocent, gunned down and stopped before they can do something great.
They’re just numbers to some.
It’s getting bad; white terrorists are winning - gun-happy American police are killing one per 24 hours, at least.
The world is never forgiving. The human race will hate you for any reason they can find. If you’re not ‘normal’ by their standards, you will be shunned. Sometimes you will be hurt. Sometimes you will be killed.
Of course, this was an extreme example, but it’s the only way to express this idea than any other. I can’t write 4-or-so stories with the same end.
The society we live in is flawed.
What can we do?
What do we do?
We can try to stop the ‘phobia’ of change. We’re all taught that some people are inherently bad, some are inherently good by their gender, race, sexuality, ability or size. Trying to get rid of this should be your first move. If you see a minority group, please, fight the urge to say what your parents taught you to. That will be a step. Small things. Small steps.
People are dying. The least you can do is help stop the negative stigma on people who aren’t you.
Thank you.

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