Thursday, March 10, 2011

The Lion Roars

She rants and spits and screams at me at the top of the stairwell. I’m up against

the wall, halfway in the hallway, halfway in my room. I’m crying and screaming back at her. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I cringe and flinch at each word I sputter, as if they all hurt to say.

I felt like she would pull me away from my room and push me down the stairs. I felt like I

 was sinking right into place, where I stood. I felt like I was dying, right then and there.

Her eyes… her empty, empty eyes stared through me, as if I wasn’t even there. We
 were playing our roles again. She was the lion, those were here teeth,
 I was the mouse, and this all was me running away, into my mind. I had nowhere else to run.

The lion roars. I sink to the wooden floor and give in. And for a
moment, I believe she’s about to kick me down the stairs. Instead, she stomps down the stairs
 alone, and I’m left broken. I crawl into my room and into my bed and cry
what’s left of my tears into the dirty pillow.

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