Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Victim by Chandu Singathi

Victim
Ah, the good ol’ summertime.  My thoughts occur less often, my heart beats at a steady pace, and my breathing returns to normal.  I look down at my bare feet, which are getting darker and darker each moment, burning continuously under the sun.  These moments will never return, because before I know it the big ball of fire will go back into hiding, and the sky will solely consist of dark clouds and white dust.  Fearful of the future, I come to the conclusion that I must appreciate these moments because each year the cold season gets longer and the sun becomes more scared to come out.  The trees become bare, the animals hide away, and the droplets of rain turn into ice as soon as they touch the ground of the earth.  But I must keep fighting, because the longer I bear the tough times, the more I will appreciate carefree moments like these.  I prance around in my white dress, letting my long black hair loose, without worrying about a single thing.  No pressure, no bullies, no fear.  All of the chains are cut loose, and everything I have ever known seems better than ever.  I look to the right, then to the left, and see that I am not alone.  The birds chirp, the bunnies hop, and the trees sway in the gentle breeze.  But then I see her, and all of the memories come back.  The torture, the pain, the tears: all of it returns to me.  She ruined me, and I wish she was never alive.  My happiness-- my pure joy—all of it ended after a single glimpse of the devil that transformed my laughter into sorrow.  With her band of evil twins, she turned my life into a horror story:  I was scared to do anything.  So I turned around, but I knew that there was no way I could ever retrieve my previous moments of serenity.  Not even the beauty of the world around me can overtake my thoughts of hopelessness and regret.  And it was all her fault.


Chandu Singathi

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