This is a story you may not want to read, to listen to, to watch, or to even believe…your drama is my dreams, your fears, I’ve far surpassed them. I wasn’t always like this, I was once like you, naïve, ignorant, spoon fed and sheltered by society’s lies of ‘everything’s going to be…’ I can’t even finish that …UGH! Then came that day….that frightful day when my cradle, as the nursery rhyme goes, the cradle will rock and when the bow breaks the cradle will fall and down, down, down will fall the baby, it’s cradle and all….
Hmm…. Where is he…? There he is under that old oak tree! He waves for me to come and sit with him on the red and white checkered cloth, bigger than me, it was held down by a picnic basket. Any other day it would have never been enough to hold the blanket to the ground but it’s a calm spring day with a cool breeze. I fight to hold back the butterflies in my heart, he’s gorgeous...I rub my sweaty palms on my soft dress. I feel cold on my arms but it is refreshing, it’s him, he’s holding me softly. His arms are cool from sitting in the breeze waiting for me, his embrace quickly turns warm. His slender arms slowly pick me up bridal style and carefully carry me to the cloth; everything speeds up, we eat fruit and throw chex mix at each other. It returns to normal in time to feel his heart as my head lies on his chest I fall into a rhythm induced coma, the calming sound of his breathing but the sound my pillow makes soothes my exhausted muscles ;

























thud…
thud…
thud…
thud…
Suddenly I’m running around in a field I slow down to turn around but I don’t stop running and instantaneously my muscles tense…they know by now of the tortures that lie ahead, something I’ve learned over the many times I have been to this terrible place; my smile is slowly displaced by confusion, I don’t remember how I got here, and I won’t remember many things until later. I move the bushes ahead slowly, I see red, red as the blanket was from the picnic, I feel its warmth settling around my bare toes and I look around to find the source…no…anything but that…please god no!




I muffle a scream into “my pillow”, he’s gone. I keep my eyes clamped for awhile as I scream out in pain tears wash away my face as the unsettling fact of my lonless overwhelms me with a deep, burrowing sorrow. Thoughts of the night are covered by a thin veil of denial and hatred, I try and comfort myself by saying there was nothing I could do, no way I could have known….but I don’t care. I should have made myself bring him back from the darkness; I should have broken the heavens in search for that innocent boy. Now all I see when I close my eyes is his sweet eyes turned cold….oh they were so cold, so cold they made me shiver into a never ending nightmare of that night. I want to forget that night but I promised him I would hold every moment I saw him close to my heart, little did I know that when something gets that close, there’s no way to stop it from tearing a fragile heart into bits, dust! Why are little fragile hearts held by little boys? Do parents let little boys play with rare, beautiful, unique, one of a kind, vases? Most no, but irresponsible owners would, maybe we ask to have our hearts ripped in half. In fact, we beg for it, that one moment of happiness; that one moment on that battered checker pattern cloth, was worth a million heart breaks…Did he ever feel love before he died? That sweet lovable face must have….he must have….did he think the moments we spent were worth as much as they were to me? Did he understand what every look into his eyes; he spelled my doom, my crushing demise.

No one has understood me…not since the accident. When that man killed my mom I was luckily at dad’s, I remember the phone call the next day, dad threw the phone at the wall, dad already knew it was him, my mom mentioned about how when he got angry… that’s why she wanted to break it off but…my dad went over there, an hour later dad was in an orange jumpsuit the one thing he told me was no matter what, to keep furthering my education and that would save me. I was put into foster care and my adopted parents were nice at first: driving me to my old school, letting me stay at friends, they even let me get bumped up a grade for high academic achievements, but my adoptive father soon had a drinking problem after he lost his job and he thought it would be cool to have a punching bag that actually screams out in pain. He always went after me, poor wife always tried to hide me but I wouldn’t hide from him, just like my mom with her problems. My “father” kicked me out and divorced his wife; I lived in a shelter alone until I met him one day walking to school. The boy was average as far as society was concerned but he was perfect to me, so was his family, they let me spend the night in the living room after a hard day. That boy… he always had to do things his way, always got it done too, he was so protective, whenever someone tried to laugh about where I lived, he made sure I never saw them again. He was the world to me, his smile, his laugh…his love? What else could a girl want ….other than a happy ever-after …











I breathe softly, he’s gone, and I am broken beyond repair without his lips safely on mine…