“Take me to the next town. I don’t care where it is. Just take me there.” The girl whispered, shivering and sopping wet from the rain.
The old man grunted and took her ticket and motioned for her to take a seat. She moved towards the back of the bus, resulting in glances from others wondering why a young girl would be riding the bus this late at night.
She picked a seat in the way back, away from all the people. She silently stared out the window making a quiet list inside her head of all the things she had forgotten and all the people she remembered. Tears silently slid down her face as she remembered her aunt crying and cousins afraid of the dark in their house. She couldn’t do it anymore. It was the best for everyone she thought. Deep down though she knew how hard it would be for everyone to find out she was leaving. From her family’s tears, to the lady in the grocery store who was always so kind and remembered her name. She also knew how
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She started to try and forget and just fall asleep, but her thoughts would always wander too far for her to return to her natural state of mind. She contemplated with herself, why she was running away? What she was running away from? She thought about her family, and the neighbors, and the town, and the dogs next door, and everyone and everything she has ever met or seen. As she began to cry harder, she looked out the window at the stores and buildings drifting past, becoming intoxicated suddenly with the view before her. She noticed a young woman at the bus stop, juggling her children on one side of her, shielding them from the bus fumes.
Not understanding what the woman was doing, Sybil watched intensely, as the woman talked to a man. It almost seemed they were having a heated conversation to one another. Suddenly, he rose a hand and struck her across the face. Sybil gasped and a sudden photo of one of her foster homes flashed back into her mind.
No, she
“Well, Alice, my father said, if it had to happen to one of you, I’m glad it was you and not your sister” (57). Even though Alice was the victim of the horrid crime, she had to stabilize her own emotions, so that she could help her sister cope with this tragedy. Throughout Alice’s childhood, Jane struggled with alcoholism and panic attacks. “I wished my mother were normal, like other moms, smiling and caring, seemingly, only for her family” (37).
fleeing to a more accepting environment, where she might possibly live a normal life. According to the narrator, she could not leave this place
We were now at the bus stop. The sun had replenished and the sky full of glee. There was trail next to the bus stop, she started walking through it. The trees intertwined like arches and the shadows created an ominous feeling. As she walked through the forest, her whole body had a calm aura.
The house was quiet and peaceful on a pebbled street, the moving trucks pulled up as Clara followed. She stepped out of her car and looked at the house thinking of how this is a fresh start in her life. “Its perfect” she said with a smile on her face. As the movers pushed open the trailer door Clara walked through the white picket fence gate on to the pebbled path and felt the feeling that she was safe, she whispered to herself “Home”.
I shook my head, ashamed for invading my friends’ tragedies with memories I conjured up by their descriptions of them. I was still staring at Alice’s relaxed posture. The frown on her face was evident even while she rested unconscious with wrinkles near her seventeen year old eyes. I could still see the scar from stitches. Vesper shifted under the blankets on Alice’s couch. He was missing a father while Sebastian and I were missing a mother. But Alice was missing the two people that had given her life and left while she was living it. A trust fund was left in their
There I am lying, I am awoken by a bright shimmering, yet quite bothering light, I slide to my right to find my angelic husband Demetrious, he was breathing softly and faintly, I wrap my arm around him onto his buff body, and his eyes stare at me gracefully, I come to acceptance and find myself thinking how this happened, from hopeless back then, to happiest I could be, and all because of one man, he made me feel gloomy like when we first met, his eyes would affectionately stare deep into your eyes. His bright personality brightened up my day, that one special day, the most beautiful day of day, it was a sunny, warm yet quite balanced day, everything was going normally, then carelessly out the corner he came, Demetrious, and one problem was that he liked my hearty, hysterical good friend Hermia. Hermia had a generous and gentle personality, she had beautiful eyes and I was very fondly jealous of her, she got all the cute, boys that I always admired, yet one day things unexpectedly turned the other way around.
She continues in this sequel to talk about the abuse she faced and the dysfunction that surrounded her life as a child and as a teen, and the ‘empty space’ in which she lived in as a result. She talks about the multiple personalities she was exhibiting, the rebellious “Willie” and the kind “Carol”; as well as hearing noises and her sensory problems. In this book, the author puts more emphasis on the “consciousness” and “awareness” and how important that was for her therapeutic process. She could not just be on “auto-pilot” and act normal; the road to recovery was filled with self-awareness and the need to process all the pieces of the puzzle—often with the guidance and assistance of her therapist. She had a need to analyze the abstract concept of emotions as well as feelings and thoughts. Connecting with others who go through what she did was also integral to her
But I stared at her. I wonder what went through her mind, what thoughts were crashing against her skull. I wonder if she was scared, confused, or angry. Maybe all three. I had felt it all too, and there is still a part of my conscience that nudged me constantly, confused and lost in the chaos. There is only so much we could hold. I've seen other kids who've thrown themselves onto the ground screaming, only to be dragged away by guards.
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
After saying their goodbyes, she walked outside and comfortably down the street until the sudden sound of the door being shut brought her to a halt. It was as though the closed door had immediately isolated her, partially denting her sense of security. For the first time she felt truly alone. Moments passed before she began thinking, reminding herself of the route home; a lengthy stumble through short interlocked streets that appeared much less intimida...
“It will be okay,” she had said. My sister never lies, but that day she did, taking a rather large part of me with her, leaving behind an empty shell that searches for a glimpse of her in the busy marketplace. I grasp the shoebox tightly, suddenly coming to a realization. It was never her harbouring hope of a family from the photographs, rather me hoping it would be enough to anchor her to me. I close my tired eyes, vision growing fainter, body becoming paralyzed, and the busy voices of the flea market muting to a dull throb. And slowly I fall, fall into the dark abyss of my mind, memories blurring out the present for the past, until all that remains (of us) is a shoebox filled with photographs.
The taxi slowly reached for her and the driver rolled down the window. "So, where do you want to go?"
... she had to get home and through the fog of her emotions she found herself parked outside her house. She waited, too afraid to move as the feelings of disbelief and dread expanded itself beside her.