When Will The Tide Turn
Layla Wants These Memories Dead
'I have a bruise; a bruise on my arm. This bruise was inflicted intending to harm. I have a bruise, created by someone with a short fuse. Now I must hide my deeply hurting bruise.' Layla fell asleep, right away the nightmare began. It was no a memory, yet it was in it's own creative way. Layla was watching herself, she wasn't herself. Layla saw everything in faint, pale, and dark colors. Nothing was reality, but on the other hand everything made sense. She was in her house, yet in someone else's house. That is how it began.
Layla was being scolded by her mother on how awful her lies were, and if something as horrible as what she was claiming were true that there would be devastation. Mrs. Jeannette was wondering if that was what Layla wanted. Through tears of denial, she repeatedly screamed the same question at her. "Is that what you want? To cause pain with your disgusting lies!" Layla realized that was a memory, she tried to avoid seeing what she had "lied" about to her mother, but of course she was shown.
"But Mommy, he did I swear it. It hurt, please believe me!" Little Layla sobbed to her mother as she was whacked to the cold, spotless, kitchen, tile floor. Suddenly Layla was looking out the second story window watching her father drive away in his shiny, maroon, mustang. When he noticed her watching he winked with an evil mischievous smirk on his face. Layla instantaneously received a haunting chill electrocute her spine, almost enough to snap her neck and kill her.
It was day, but the moon was alighting the sky, the atmosphere around it was dark purple with a few bright, perfectly shaped stars gathered around the full moon. Mary was standing next to her, hovering over her shoulder to also look at their father leaving them. "It's your fault you know," Mary prompted Layla. Layla stayed silent. She knew deep down that she didn't want to live. This was not something she could comprehend rationally. She was too young. Layla screamed, just clutched the sides of her aching head and screamed.
She remembers screaming and crying like that for a very long time. Never stopping, even as everything around her faded away. Including her sister, Mary, simply staring at her while she screamed in shear agony. 'Who are you to say what the truth is. I am telling you now that all is well, and how? How do you find the strength to come to the conclusion. The one that involves all of my unknown confusion.'
Layla did not want to say this. She tried to change the visions instead she just fast forwarded a bit. She was trapped in her father's bed room, still very young. Layla was bleeding between the legs, her father was there. "That will teach you, I am in control. So next time just stay quiet." Layla started to scream again, and she cried. Attempting to wake herself up and not relive what happened next. She remembered and she was doing her best to block it out.
'There is a thin line with trust and love. One that sets the boundaries for pain and invasion. And I will never realize what is considered sane. But you have to trust me when I say that the story is plain. You arrived in an angry rampage. Clear your mind and let me set the stage. I threw up my hands in mercy. Begging and pleading for you to not hurt me. I love you and I know you love me too. But you need to stay away from me. Why? Can't you see, you are hurting me? Oh, but you know. Well that is beyond low.'
Eventually Layla did wake up, but it was just a little too late. Layla was blubbering, she was so lost. She was so hurt, she was dropped to such a low level, emotionally, that she had to fight herself from grabbing her exacto knife and just shoving it through her neck. Instead she just slit it deep into her other arm, from the last cut, and watched the hot blood stain her pale skin. Concentrating on the sting of the metallic liquid, she found her dark sweatshirt that collected the extra blood always undetected, thanks to the dark color.
Layla's shadowed, bright green, eyes were still watering when she saw the unknown figure coming toward her, again, in the dark. It wasn't Pardon, Seth, or Adrian; it also was not Rayne. They were all next to her watching in a trance as the figure collected her in his arms and pillowed her head on his warm chest. It wasn't her father it wasn't her dead grandfather. It was someone she loved, or someone she was going to love. He was able to slow Layla's wheezing, and also calm the furious pounding of something on the inside of her skull.
He kept her awake, but in a restful state. Layla was successfully being comforted. "Do not worry, I will always be there for you," he whispered to Layla in a soft and gentle voice. That is exactly what she needed to hear. So she nuzzled herself closer into his protective arms as he carefully tightened his grip on her. Layla could have never have asked for anything more. Who ever this was, they were perfect.
Layla was being scolded by her mother on how awful her lies were, and if something as horrible as what she was claiming were true that there would be devastation. Mrs. Jeannette was wondering if that was what Layla wanted. Through tears of denial, she repeatedly screamed the same question at her. "Is that what you want? To cause pain with your disgusting lies!" Layla realized that was a memory, she tried to avoid seeing what she had "lied" about to her mother, but of course she was shown.
"But Mommy, he did I swear it. It hurt, please believe me!" Little Layla sobbed to her mother as she was whacked to the cold, spotless, kitchen, tile floor. Suddenly Layla was looking out the second story window watching her father drive away in his shiny, maroon, mustang. When he noticed her watching he winked with an evil mischievous smirk on his face. Layla instantaneously received a haunting chill electrocute her spine, almost enough to snap her neck and kill her.
It was day, but the moon was alighting the sky, the atmosphere around it was dark purple with a few bright, perfectly shaped stars gathered around the full moon. Mary was standing next to her, hovering over her shoulder to also look at their father leaving them. "It's your fault you know," Mary prompted Layla. Layla stayed silent. She knew deep down that she didn't want to live. This was not something she could comprehend rationally. She was too young. Layla screamed, just clutched the sides of her aching head and screamed.
She remembers screaming and crying like that for a very long time. Never stopping, even as everything around her faded away. Including her sister, Mary, simply staring at her while she screamed in shear agony. 'Who are you to say what the truth is. I am telling you now that all is well, and how? How do you find the strength to come to the conclusion. The one that involves all of my unknown confusion.'
Layla did not want to say this. She tried to change the visions instead she just fast forwarded a bit. She was trapped in her father's bed room, still very young. Layla was bleeding between the legs, her father was there. "That will teach you, I am in control. So next time just stay quiet." Layla started to scream again, and she cried. Attempting to wake herself up and not relive what happened next. She remembered and she was doing her best to block it out.
'There is a thin line with trust and love. One that sets the boundaries for pain and invasion. And I will never realize what is considered sane. But you have to trust me when I say that the story is plain. You arrived in an angry rampage. Clear your mind and let me set the stage. I threw up my hands in mercy. Begging and pleading for you to not hurt me. I love you and I know you love me too. But you need to stay away from me. Why? Can't you see, you are hurting me? Oh, but you know. Well that is beyond low.'
Eventually Layla did wake up, but it was just a little too late. Layla was blubbering, she was so lost. She was so hurt, she was dropped to such a low level, emotionally, that she had to fight herself from grabbing her exacto knife and just shoving it through her neck. Instead she just slit it deep into her other arm, from the last cut, and watched the hot blood stain her pale skin. Concentrating on the sting of the metallic liquid, she found her dark sweatshirt that collected the extra blood always undetected, thanks to the dark color.
Layla's shadowed, bright green, eyes were still watering when she saw the unknown figure coming toward her, again, in the dark. It wasn't Pardon, Seth, or Adrian; it also was not Rayne. They were all next to her watching in a trance as the figure collected her in his arms and pillowed her head on his warm chest. It wasn't her father it wasn't her dead grandfather. It was someone she loved, or someone she was going to love. He was able to slow Layla's wheezing, and also calm the furious pounding of something on the inside of her skull.
He kept her awake, but in a restful state. Layla was successfully being comforted. "Do not worry, I will always be there for you," he whispered to Layla in a soft and gentle voice. That is exactly what she needed to hear. So she nuzzled herself closer into his protective arms as he carefully tightened his grip on her. Layla could have never have asked for anything more. Who ever this was, they were perfect.