Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Doors

{explicit content; triggers}

I am a small child and it feels as if she is devouring me. I can't get away and there is no one to call on for help. She has said before she will kill me, and now she is making good on that promise, but in a totally unforeseen way.

I look to my left, and I see my escape. A door. Albeit a closet door, but it is a door nonetheless. Doors are escape hatches in my mind. 

I concentrate on the knob. It is aged brass but still has a bit of sheen to it. I imagine I can see myself in it. I see my hand reaching for it. I can almost touch it. Keep concentrating. Reach. Reach. Reach.

I don't feel the knob in my hand. I don't remember turning it, but now I am sitting on the pillow on my bed as far from her as I can get given that she is in the same room. I pull my knees up under my gown and keep looking to the left. If I shift my eyes I will see her and be trapped again. So I keep my eyes trained to the left. 

There is a bookcase against the wall. Filled with books and my sister's toy horse figurines. 

Our joint collection of Companion Library books. 

The bottom of the bookcase has two sliding doors where we cram everything when told to clean our room.

I keep my eyes trained on the bookcase. Don't blink. I wait, barely breathing until it's over. 

But once it's over will I exist anymore?

linking up with Just Write


1 comment:

  1. oh my friend. i'm so proud of you for writing this out. but oh, so so hard... may God the Father be there, holding you, even as you write, and Jesus calling on his angels to protect you, and the Holy Spirit nurturing and comforting you.

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