I sat in the middle of the field and prayed.
It was the place that I went to on her birthday. She had always taken me there, from age 1 to 10. She told me she wanted only the best for me. I couldn’t help but laugh at that. I thought that she was joking, always. She was always joking and kidding… and it just seemed like one of those sarcastic moments.
I learned it wasn’t.
She really loved me. It shocked me to think about it. Never once had she told me she loved me. From the day that I came to the day that she left, she only told me jokes and she only called me sarcastic names. Never once had she really showed affection. Never once had she shown a sign of care.
Never once had she hugged me.
Around age 7 I thought that she was just that kind of person. I thought that she just wouldn’t tell me she loved me, or call me sweetie, or feed me a warm, home-made meal. It was just completely the furthest thing from my mind. I grew up with her for 10 years like that. She wasn’t SUPPOSSED to be nice to me. It wasn’t against the law to treat me like I wasn’t who I was to her. It wasn’t like she meant to make me feel the way I did, at least, I never thought she meant to. I felt like she really did love me. She gave me a roof under my head, and there was food on the table once a day. She ate the same time that I did, so I know that it wasn’t to make me feel bad. I knew it wasn’t to starve me. I knew that she ate like me. It was simply to keep ourselves fed.
I felt someone whisper in my ear.
“You… are… a… freak…”
I stood up instantly and walked away. I didn’t glance in the person’s direction. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. I just walked away.
Ever since the somber day of death, I hadn’t talked. I had a hard time seeing. I had a hard time breathing. She was my life, and her falling off of this Earth
It really did.
I could feel eyes burning a hole into the back of my head.
The next day I walked into my classroom. I always found time to go to school, but it was hard to take, considering I couldn’t talk, or barely see, or barely breathe. I always ditched P. E. I just couldn’t do it.
I passed out one day.
Never again would I go back to it.
I try to talk everyday, but nothing ever comes out. Its not my fault. My heart isn’t whole, its not even broken. Half of it is just… gone.
But the other half remains hollow.
I stood there, in the doorway of my education chamber. Everyone always criticizes me. They don’t understand. They think I’m deaf. They think I’m blind. They think I’m dumb.
But I can’t help but say in my mind that everyone of them are all three.
It was about 5 minutes before class. I hated being early for fear of sorrow and shame. I stumbled inside from a force coming behind me.
“Wanna move it, you fricking loser?!” I heard someone yell.
I fell inside.
I went immediately to my seat and I sat down. As I stared around at everyone else, I couldn’t help but be paranoid. I always felt a gun sticking into my back, with every second of every day. I wondered if she felt the same way.
“What the frick is wrong with you? Are you mental?” I heard someone strike at me. I looked up, and it was a girl. Everyday she asked me the same question, and everyday I had the same urge to hit her. But everyday, I had the same common sense that I carried with myself.
“Would you like to talk to me or what? You loser, what the hell is wrong with you?” She snapped.
I did nothing.
She kept going. She kept grilling me.
“What was it again? Was it your Mom or whatever? Whatever DID happen to her? You little freak?