Look at me. I am only twenty years old and I cannot stand myself. I wish I could go back to the days before…
I was only five years old. I was a poor, innocent child, and he stole that from me. Those are his hands holding the heart. My heart. I trusted him and he broke it. My dad always told mom that he was not right. That she needed to divorce him. And she did. It was just too late. The damage had already been done. My hands rip my chest open now because I will give my heart to any man now. I don’t care to give all I have to a man that will tell me he loves me. The first one stole it from me. There is a big empty black space where my heart use to be. I wish I could be innocent. That’s why I got rid of all of the white — it stands for innocence.
The dark forest in my mind shows me again and again where it happened. One day, I was playing, and then . . . .
My eyes are painted dark because what is the point of showing joy when you have none. All my joy is gone. The lines and design of this picture are very vivid because my memory is vivid. I made myself look the other way. I can’t bear to see the pain of him holding the only heart I had. I was only five. Years. Old. He forced me to grow up. To lose the pure childhood I had. I won’t forgive him until my day in court comes and I can see him in chains and shackles like he has put me in. I can’t form a relationship with a man. I can’t trust my friends.
I go see my ther-rapist three times a week, but it doesn’t help. All that awful man does is make me bring the memory back up. He made me paint this picture. I can’t do this anymore. I wonder if he noticed that tears running down my eyes. Did he notice that my crimson lips are darker than my heart. There is not a five year old girl in the world who wears make-up unless it’s for dress up. I never got to be a child. He stole that from me. He cut the space in my chest for my heart to fall. my blond hair is gone, never to show again what I use to be. I turned it black at the first foster home I was allowed to. That was about the fourth one. They kept throwing me out because I couldn’t trust the man that was living there.
I am older now, and I should be growing up, getting married and having kids like the rest of the people my age are. But I just can’t. I have to learn how to trust a man before I could ever even start to have a life. My life sucks. This is not the first picture. This will not be the last picture. I thought of this when I was called heartless. I yelled and screamed before I realized I really was heartless. I had nothing to give because all I had was taken and stolen from me. I will never forget that night in the woods. I will never get past that night in the woods. I will always be stuck in the woods.
picture:http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.mythreeringcircus.com/wp-content/uploads/dramaticbw2web.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.mythreeringcircus.com/tag/black-and-white-photography/&usg=__gJxzqUqJQDIi9OpUroElAIAvYwE=&h=600&w=400&sz=136&hl=en&start=34&sig2=ISnWiOCclq367lw3-QIiHQ&zoom=1&tbnid=eEEh6zelLr9BsM:&tbnh=141&tbnw=94&ei=avqjTKX-KY6lngfvsdCADg&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dblack%2Band%2Bwhite%2Bpicture%2Bof%2Ba%2Blittle%2Bgirl%2Bwith%2Bno%2Bheart%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DX%26rlz%3D1R2TSHB_enUS329%26biw%3D1123%26bih%3D613%26tbs%3Disch:1&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=515&oei=Y_qjTIHuI8T68AaU7-3QCQ&esq=3&page=3&ndsp=19&ved=1t:429,r:7,s:34&tx=69&ty=48
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Hideously Beautiful
This picture is not beautiful. At least, not to me. You see flowers and a beautiful lake, reflecting the green trees and tall, majestic mountains in the background. But I see evil. I see how something should have animals and signs of life surrounding it, inhabiting the supposed beautiful scene pained before you. I see how the once glorious picture could have been pretty before, but if you look harder, there is no beauty. There is death in the animals where they no longer walk. Perhaps it was hunting season and everything had been killed or driven from their homes out of fear. Or is the pond poisoned, slowly destroying every that tries to sedate its thirst and drinks the tainted water.
Over time the cold will take over and the green will become brown and fragile. The snowcapped mountains will be black and hideous, ominous in their presence. The beautifully blue lake will dry up or become polluted and disgusting; then what. What do you have left when everything is gone?
Were you to highlight this image, you would see what I can see. Everything is just wrong. Or do we just refuse to see the bad in something that must be beautiful. Why do we make it beautiful in our eyes? What makes it so lovely and perfect?
The serenity could easily be mistaken for solemnity. Not just the word itself but the condition of the scene. The quiet could be eerie — not a single sound daring to be heard, risking too much if it did.
This could be a murder scene, a body, that had been brutally and violently murdered, secretly hidden in the bushes. The victim could have had three kids and a loving spouse, but their life was taken out of rage, jealousy, or for no apparent reason.
This could be a murder scene, a body, that had been brutally and violently murdered, secretly hidden in the bushes. The victim could have had three kids and a loving spouse, but their life was taken out of rage, jealousy, or for no apparent reason.
But how would you know. All you see is a beautiful lake surrounded by trees.
Image:
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Thesis for "The Rattler"
In the story "The Rattler," dutiful and apologetic tones portray the fact that the man must kill the snake, even though a certain amount of sadness is leaked into the feeling. Though the man faces his worthy opponent (in his eyes) and he does not want to kill something for no reason, he must to potentially save the lives of livestock, children, family, and friends.
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