Names
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Names.
They always had names. No matter who they were. No one knew their names, no one but I, and they’d slit my throat if I spoke. If I told anyone, if I whispered them to the wind, if I sang the syllables to the walls around me, they’d find me. They knew. They always knew when their names were spoken.
I closed my mouth and never spoke again, I’d keep my throat mark-free, I’d sleep the night like a baby, I’d hold my head up high each day, because I’d never speak their names. I wasn’t a victim, I was just someone with a choice. I could speak and die, I could remain silent and live. There’s a give and a take with everything, this was just simply the way life was.
I was safe.
Or so I thought.
The wind plays tricks, there’s a voice that always flows through the trees, the whispers were everywhere, and they were nowhere. Nowhere within sight, seeing isn’t believing, hearing is. I can hear them, but my eyes refuse to let me see. Someone spoke, someone that was not me, someone that I didn’t not know. No one else knew, no one else should’ve spoke, no one else was plagued with remaining silent, but someone spoke.
They came in the night, they came through my bedroom window, they found my bed. They found my sleeping form covered under my blankets. They found my head nestled in my pillow, their hands found my mouth at first, their words found their way to my ears, their knife found my throat, and with my last breath, I found, falling from my lips, their names.
They always had names. No matter who they were. No one knew their names, no one but I, and they’d slit my throat if I spoke. If I told anyone, if I whispered them to the wind, if I sang the syllables to the walls around me, they’d find me. They knew. They always knew when their names were spoken.
I closed my mouth and never spoke again, I’d keep my throat mark-free, I’d sleep the night like a baby, I’d hold my head up high each day, because I’d never speak their names. I wasn’t a victim, I was just someone with a choice. I could speak and die, I could remain silent and live. There’s a give and a take with everything, this was just simply the way life was.
I was safe.
Or so I thought.
The wind plays tricks, there’s a voice that always flows through the trees, the whispers were everywhere, and they were nowhere. Nowhere within sight, seeing isn’t believing, hearing is. I can hear them, but my eyes refuse to let me see. Someone spoke, someone that was not me, someone that I didn’t not know. No one else knew, no one else should’ve spoke, no one else was plagued with remaining silent, but someone spoke.
They came in the night, they came through my bedroom window, they found my bed. They found my sleeping form covered under my blankets. They found my head nestled in my pillow, their hands found my mouth at first, their words found their way to my ears, their knife found my throat, and with my last breath, I found, falling from my lips, their names.