und my throat, I feel as if I am choki

lit in my room. My eyes dart around frantically. Everything seems in

nightmare fades away leavin

self. They feel lifelike, so real

hey used to come every now and then. But now my mind won’t let

for me. I fight sleep as much as I can; only sleeping when my eyes are so heavy, they are like lead weights forcing my eyes

dream. Her face stays the same, fierce and determined. She is always ready to f

mind. The sound forces me out of t

ly. My voice is hoarse, and my throat is pa

y huffs from the ot

y does not sound appealing to me; a group of teenagers getting drunk and then sticking their tongue

begging and pleading with me to go. Always using her bi

would want to move here is unknown to me. We have a measly population of seven h

lls and tossed my in

other business to deal with besides yours,”

ust imagine her doing her famous eye roll while placing her hand on her hip

hour and I wi

afternoon, half an hour top.” S

brush through my tangled rat’s nest until my light blond hair falls into spiral ringlets that reach the small of

Clara sings, fixing her

like an animal eagerly awaiting its meal. I take the plate of

obably taking in the dark circles under my eyes that are a dead giveaway

They always prescribe me sleeping pills, minutes after the pills slip down my throat, I begin to

will myself to wake up, to get away from the demons that surround me. The drugs are

*

eight. My real Mom had been drunk when she lost control of her car. We roll

been on their way back from visiting relatives out of town. D

deep scratches and bruises, my left wrist was broken in three places, and I suffered a nasty bump to th

anything. In those few weeks I did not speak, I was scared; the shrink believed that not talking was my way of dealing with the trauma. Once I felt comfor

what once was. I don’t remember my mom, her face, her smile or her name. I can’t remembe

fter that time ar

g to be put together, but first I nee

I try, I can’t break through; I need to find the key. There is a burning desire within me that runs deep i

ng it off and fixing my gaze elsewhere. Clara has

g my empty plate into the sink, diverting her attention elsewhere. The nightmare

seat panic would take control of me. My breathing would come in short breaths and my heart would accelerate. My

e passenger’s seat. Clara believes it is from my su

s smartly in different coloured blouses, even on her days off. Her pencil skirts show off her long, toned legs. Her auburn hair is