Liam.
Not the name itself, but the way it was spoken. As if a four letter pronoun
could pronounce what no one had been willing to. Spoken from lips who dare not
think of the meaning behind it. . . . spoken from lips still reeling from the
nightmare, just one back break away from falling further within.
I know what it meant, and I knew how
it was heard by those who knew. A painfully dark creature that
suddenly saw broad daylight, yet only glittered to those who knew his inner
depths. Funny how an animal glistening in the sun has the same effect as a monster
pinpointed and spotlighted by the moon.
It’s as if it’s contagious to those
who know, spreading silence wherever it goes. Because clearly this is something
not worthy of being talked about. Something that needs to be kept under wraps.
. .something like you.
And it needs to be kept quiet, so as
not to frighten those around. So as not to spook the children and inject fear
into the adults. There’s a reason no one talks about it, and I have a chilling feeling
that that reason might be me. They think I’m frail, that I can’t handle talking
about it, but honestly, talking about it isn't what got me into this mess. I
was told that his name wasn’t worthy of mentioning, yet I hear it every night.
I was told that such a disgrace didn’t deserve thought, yet thinking isn’t what
got me into this mess. I was told to forget about it, because remembering is
painful, but my attempts at forgetting are what got me into this mess.
It’s
hard not to be frustrated beyond belief that no one will speak of what happens—if
a crime is happening in broad daylight, wouldn’t you stop it? Well what if the
ones who saw were the ones who turned away? And what if a frightened girl—what if
I—was the one to turn first?
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