My Story
She laid in bed, staring at the blank ceiling. A sudden flicker of light at the window prompted her to look furtively around the clustered room. She felt like a stranger. Even in her own room. The magnified silhouettes of her possessions looked foreign to her. She turned away from the light. She was afraid of it. It illuminated the dark room, illuminated her vulnerability.

A surge of emotions went through her. Remorse, fear, anger. She felt it all, not at all spared. It had become a nightly ritual. Almost like the bedtime story her mother used to tell her when she was younger. She missed the innocence; she missed looking in awe at her mother.

This was different. She despised the feeling. She squeezed her eyes shut as a tear rolled down the side of her perfectly chiseled nose. Perfect was something she was not. What was she doing? What did she want? She clamped her jaw tight as she felt the blood drain from her face. She didn't know. She didn't know.