Haunting Heaven

Week Two

The old mirror in the closet creaked a low moaning song, as I rolled it out. With a shaky hands, I lifted my shirt.

Throwing the piece of clothing aside, I took a large intake of breath, as I started at my reflection.

Ugly.

Worthless.

Fat.

Disgusting.

Trash.

Ungrateful.

I winced.

I was indeed ugly. I was disgusting.

Fresh yellow and purple bruises covered my stomach. They looked like scars, they felt like scars. And even though they would heel, I'll always feel the pain. I'll always see myself as a parasite in a lonely, untamed, human world.

And I had these bruises, the marks, to prove just that.

Not only was my stomach unrecognizable, but my arms were weak and beaten also. A hinge of blood had dried on my wrist, most likely from my busted lip.

My mouth was swollen and bloody. Pain surged through my veins.

Taking a bit of gauze, I pressed the soft material to my lip, but pulled away quickly, hissing in the process. A tears had escaped from my eyes and rolled down my cheek.

I continued to stare at myself, at my hideous body. A sob escaped my trembling red lips. My body shook from the cold.

I was scared. I was frightened.

There were so many of them.

They were swarming like a nest of bees, fighting over their honey.

Except, I wasn't the honey. I was like the bear who stole their honey. And they wanted revenge. They wanted to fight me.

And they succeeded.

Once again, I wasn't really the bear, but the innocent victim, a mere passerby. I was the punching bag at the gym. I provided them a way to cool off, to release the anger of a loosing game.

And I pitied the punching bag, for it was brave.

It took on the challenge, the pain, the aggression.

But I was weak.

I didn't fight back.

I couldn't.

And I wasn't at all brave.

I wish I was. I wish I was strong enough. I wish I could do something. Tell someone. Confess.

But I was fearful. If I told, if I confessed, would that do any good? Would anyone help a poor defenseless girl? Would they understand?

Or worse, would he, the leader of the bees, punish me more? Would he hurt me more?

"He's kill me." I whispered, too sure of myself.

My body showed it. He was capable of anything. I was sure of it.