Hear My Voice (abridged version)

Hear My Voice

People say that those who are good always die first. Those people are usually taken away from the world at an early age. Perhaps that is what happened to me. My name is Eliza and I am eternally fifteen years old.

Since I was five, I had been abused by my parents because of my clairvoyance. I could see supernatural beings and even see the past. Despite having such a unique ability, I was chastised for it. My parents felt that it was only a pretext for attention. They called me names like, “devil’s spawn” and “demon child.” To them, I was the worst type of person that could ever live. Underneath this darkness, I found something that I loved.

Around my tenth birthday, I realized how much I loved to sing. Singing always left me in a placid, happy state; though I never sang at home. At home, I was not allowed to talk or do anything that I wanted. I slept on a very hard, small bed with only a thin sheet blanket. Our house had no heat either, so winters were rough. Being neglected sometimes forced me to sleep outside in the tool shed, where I found some solace. I was saved from the pain only in isolation.

Over the span of fifteen years, I had constantly been abused. It first started when I was two years old. The abuse was not nearly enough to call “abuse”, but it was a starting point. If I did anything wrong, I was

given the occasional spanking. Gradually, as the years went on, spankings became slaps on the face or cigarette burns. By the time I was eight years old, it was neglect on top of the physical abuse. I had thought of

giving up on life then and there, but something stopped me. I had several friends at school who really appreciated me. They made me feel like I was worth something, and we had stayed friends until the day I left this

world.

At the start of eighth grade, I joined the school choir. It was a great place to practice my singing and associate with my friends who joined the choir with me. We sang mostly gospel songs, which usually had

a strong message that I enjoyed. Life was getting better for me. But, as my life got better, my parents treated me worse. Both of my parents were alcoholics and were exposed to illegal drugs. Seeing my happy face

did not make them happy. They continued to ignore me and continued to hit me. Many times I thought of running away from this evil, but I always thought that there was just at least a drop of goodness in my parents’

hearts. I never betrayed them by telling my friends or teachers what the bruises on my body were really from.

I continued singing in the choir after elementary school. At the end December, we would always hold presentation for the school and our families. One lucky person each year got to be the lead singer. I always wished to be up there leading everyone in song. Freshman year of high school, I was not chosen. I was fourteen then. When I was fifteen, my wish had been granted. I had been chosen to lead our school choir at the presentation at the end of the year. I was ecstatic at the decision. Every day I tried to stay at least a few minutes more at school before my bus left. School was my sanctuary. At home, I tried my best to condone what was done to me, but as I got older, the more rebellious I was. I tried to hit back often; something I had never done until then.

Then, that day happened; my performance with the choir at school. My parents drove me there and actually stayed to watch me; which was a miracle in itself. The concert was amazing. I sang my heart out that night and even got a standing ovation. All the members of the choir thanked me. I was never happier. The drive back home was silent, the smell of alcohol filled the air. I looked outside only to see snowflakes fall to the ground at a very fast pace. We probably had about seven inches of snow already.

My home was what people would call the middle of nowhere. There weren’t any homes for eight miles or so. By car, it was easy to reach our home. By foot, you would probably have a hard time getting there.That night had only been ten degrees outside. Our house with no heat felt like a refrigerator. During times like this, my parents only put a small portable heater in their room.

As we parked inside our garage, my parents and I walked outside to go through the front door. As I reached the open doorway, a hand pushed me. “You, get out.” , my mother said. I looked at her again. Hadn’t she been proud of me? I tried to enter once more, only to be pushed harder. The door slammed shut.I was left alone in the freezing cold weather. My only choice was to go inside the shed. I ran towards it and turned the knob. The door was locked. I wasn’t sure what I would do after that. The snow surrounded me and I had no other shelter. My only choice was to walk to a strangers’ home. As the night went on, the temperature got colder. My knees were starting to hurt and I began to get a headache. In an hour I couldn’t even breathe correctly. Ten minutes later I fell to the ground. No on found me until after Christmas break. One mile from home there I was; pale, frostbitten, and covered in snow. I was found by my bus driver. My parents were arrested a day later.

At school, a special service was held for me. I was known as the “Singing Muse”. The school mourned for me, more than my parents ever had. Something made me feel complete knowing that I touched a few people’s hearts. The darkness was no longer evil. It became light and I am now in it.