Status: complete!(:
Unseen
Christmas.
ALY: Right now, it is Christmas Eve. I’ve been standing in this cold, wet phone booth for hours. The people in the houses long ago shut their blinds. I would have too if I had seen a girl with ragged clothing and dirty hair standing in a phone booth all day without moving at all, just watching as my children hung up ornaments and sang carols and drank their hot chocolate without a care. I have been trying not to cry, I’ve been trying not to explode into the thousands of little Alypieces I can feel shattering inside me, begging to be released. I was hoping with everything in my being that you would answer the phone tonight. That I would get to hear your living, breathing voice. But you didn’t. Part of me is grateful. I don’t deserve you, Mom. I don’t deserve to hear your living, breathing voice. You probably can’t even begin to imagine how much I miss you right now. I hope you’re safe and warm somewhere far away from HIM. I hope you’re not dying inside. I hope you’re happy. I hope you get these messages. I hope you’re not HIM. I love you, Mom. More than these few messages can even begin to explain. More than anyone else in the world loves another person. Don’t forget that, don’t forget me.
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It has been six months since I’ve left ‘home’. Maybe I should just give up. Stop calling my mom, stop sending her birdie prayers, stop caring, stop existing. They could declare me dead. They probably already have. HE could forget about me. Everything could be better, easier. But. But what if the only thing stopping HIM from doing IT again is me? Is the fact that I am still living and breathing and posing a threat to his carefully constructed double life and he knows? How could I thrust that upon another girl, another child? How could I do that to someone else? I’ve already dealt with HIM. I can keep dealing with HIM. I can keep living and breathing just to make HIM sweat. Just to keep IT from happening to another girl, another child. I can save others. Just by continuing to roam the country on the sheer power of my leg muscle or Greyhound buses when I have enough money or bumming free rides with a kind stranger or a total creep depending on how tired I happen to be, I can keep IT from happening. Maybe that should be enough for me. It’s not like I deserve better. It’s not like I could do better.
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It has been six months since I’ve left ‘home’. Maybe I should just give up. Stop calling my mom, stop sending her birdie prayers, stop caring, stop existing. They could declare me dead. They probably already have. HE could forget about me. Everything could be better, easier. But. But what if the only thing stopping HIM from doing IT again is me? Is the fact that I am still living and breathing and posing a threat to his carefully constructed double life and he knows? How could I thrust that upon another girl, another child? How could I do that to someone else? I’ve already dealt with HIM. I can keep dealing with HIM. I can keep living and breathing just to make HIM sweat. Just to keep IT from happening to another girl, another child. I can save others. Just by continuing to roam the country on the sheer power of my leg muscle or Greyhound buses when I have enough money or bumming free rides with a kind stranger or a total creep depending on how tired I happen to be, I can keep IT from happening. Maybe that should be enough for me. It’s not like I deserve better. It’s not like I could do better.