Flawed

1.

The swift dance of the wind on my toes was enough to awake me from my peaceful slumber. This was the second time tonight, because the shiver laying at the edge of my skin took a job to incessantly remind me of the awful occurrence of the fore night.

Hurriedly, i sit up on the bed and rearrange myself, making sure to turn off my alarm before it wakes up my roommate, leaving me bare under her scrutinizing nose.

I knew i had to clean up, but the fear of staring at the reflection of someone i wish not to be, in the mirror that stood adjacent of my bed held me still and stuck to my bed.

So i stayed 1 more minute, and then 1 more after that, and then 1 more after that, at least until i was sure i wouldn't fall into a river of tears when i saw myself.

The wait didn't seem to shake off the shame that followed, one that makes you timid, and anxious, and breaks you down until all you have left is a whisper for a voice.

In some ways i have a story similar to that of the little mermaid, except i wasn't given a choice cause i never had a voice.

Forcing a smile on my face, i accepted the peeping light that accompanied the sunrise and held on to the day by the palms, conceding to the inescapable callous fate it brings with it and allowing it lead me to wherever it wishes.

______________________________________
I watch as the tiny short leg of the clock moves in a graceful circular dance, one no ballerina can quite achieve. However for some unfathomable reason, it seems to intentionally move really slowly today, thus leaving me captive under the screeching voice of Ms. Joan, my lecturer.

I lost focus hours ago. I had even tried to focus on focusing, but my mind had other plans. Plans to drift into a bliss of emptiness, it’s favourite alley. So naturally, soon enough a yawn escaped my lips and my attention was drawn to the wall clock which stood confidently right behind the lecturer.

I have always appreciated how convenient it's position is, cause it makes it look like I’m still paying attention to the ongoing lecture, a very necessary characteristic for us front rowers.

"Ms. Everhart" It takes me a second to recognize the all too familiar screechy voice of Ms. Joan. I stare at her hazel colored eyes that highlights her perfectly framed face, waiting for her to complete her sentence, like she was the one lost in space seconds ago.

"Ms. Everhart, is your group ready for it's presentation?"

I have always wondered if she is or had ever been insecure about her voice. Has she ever thought; maybe if i never speak again i won't have to watch people around try to subtly cover their ears at the mere sound of my voice, or; maybe if I never had a voice, I wouldn’t have had to listen to the other kids drag irons rods across the floor in an attempt to mimic my screeching tone, and watch them hit me with the iron rods that were now hot due to the friction, in an attempt to forever silence my horrid voice.

Did she stay silent and smile widely, showing off her perfectly lined teeth to make them forget about her screechy voice? Does she still stay silent when she can? Was taking up this profession her way of fighting off the insecurities?

“Ms. Everhart?” I guess I’ll never know.

"Yes ma'am, we're ready" Orson said, answering for me and nudging me out of my thoughts. “Come on Nez, you can’t back out now. It’s show time”