‘My....my n-name is Mikey,’
They look up.
Pity
is abundant in their eyes: comparing my problems to their problems – finding
mine to be of greater weight.
They shake their heads and straighten their
backs.
I stand alert to every look, every cough,
every fidget.
I don’t think I can do this. Not like this.
Not right now.
I clear my throat once....a second
time...... a third....but it doesn’t come.
This surprises no one, not even me.
One thought resounds in my head: I’m not strong enough!
Suddenly I feel a steady palm encompass my
shaky hand.
I freeze........
Kindness.
The concept is foreign.
A more familiar, cold feeling trickles
through my bones as fear’s friendly tendrils grip tightly to my heart.
I shirk away.
Memories cloud my mind; a kaleidoscope of
dark images of a person I don’t want to be.
My hand instantly flies to my golden
pendant as a clearer memory attempts to burrow to the surface. I know this memory;
it is the worst one I have.
Here, I am a girl, a human girl. I have
human characteristics. I run. I play. I die, just like a human. The vision
before me does not know anything but happiness. She does not know pain or
suffering......and my prayers beg she never does. The torture, however, is that
I know she will. Pain and suffering will be as comrade and best friend to her.
In the years to come, the two will consume her until she is me.....emptiness.
‘....and I am an addict.’
The words are barely a whisper.
-- Natasha Chinhuru
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