Their biggest problem?
Oh, how they’ll regret this.
“I’ll leave now,” I say, hoping to hear him speak again, ask me to stay, comfort me, and tell me it was all a lie as he was only testing me.
“You do that,” he says, moving away from me and rounding his desk.
No longer looking at me, he pushes a drawer open and searches for something, while I pick up my things.
He lifts his gaze one more time.
There is no smile, not a kernel of understanding, not a hint of empathy for me, only crudeness.
And then he speaks again as he flicks his eyes to my head.
“Stop doing that to your hair,” he drops before moving his eyes to that damn drawer, and a flicker of hope flashes through me with the belief that maybe not all is lost.
3
LEILANI
Two yearslater
Letterto myself
Diary Entry128
You comeinto this world with a clean slate.
Pure, candid, putty clay in everybody’s hands with no memories and not a morsel of knowledge.
You have no idea what life was like before or what it will be like after you leave.
You don’t know how to ride this monster, spread your wings, and solve the riddle of this dark, painful thing life is.
How can you dance if you don’t know the moves?
How can you live with intent if you lack knowledge?
You’re tiny, helpless, and made of euphoria since the magic of dark hasn’t touched you yet.
As time passes, you keep cooing in the background as the grown-ups in the room write their sordid tales into your story.
Life is a merry-go-round, blinding lights, bright as fuck colors, fuzzy words without a meaning, and warmth or coldness you can’t tell apart.
Scraps of memories begin to form, yet they won’t stay with you for long.
A few more years get whisked away by Father Time, and you begin to see what the beautiful life everyone has talked about really is.
The memories morph into a hodgepodge of nonsense, static noise, some good bits, and nostalgic yearnings for things that have never happened or might happen, perhaps too late, when you’re already regretting everything.
What you see is different from what they instruct you to see.
Regardless, the grown-ups are convinced they’re virtuous, sinless, untouchable figures, who can twist reality for their own fading gains.
Callousness rules their lives, tainting yours, yet nothing can stop them or make them pay for what they do.
You become a living, bleeding thing, aching and burning like flesh tossed into a blazing fire as things get real.
