Page 11 of These Eternal Bones

Disagreeable Girl

Which Witch - Florence I was never that. The abyss was full, my voice useless fodder within it.

Another scream lost to the cacophony. A universal chorus of suffering.

The sob that leaves me isn’t so much a cry, but a scream .

A bellow of frustration and… rage . Of fear and uncertainty.

Of monotony and the inescapable reality of my plight, I am at the will of a man. Again.

Monsters are real.

I am bloody.

And it hurts .

The rage starts as a bubble of heat in my chest, a tingle, an itch that demands to be scratched for the very first time in my life.

I can feel it licking like flames up my throat, heat grazing the chapped skin of my lips as I tighten them, sucking them between my teeth like that’ll stop it. It doesn’t.

I scream.

My hands ache as I pound my fists and scrape at the floor of the cottage.

I finally understand why they did it so much.

It seems once you start…it’s impossible to stop.

I stumble as I get to my feet, another wrenching cramp tearing through my stomach, and I can feel him again…

deep within the very marrow of me. Spice and cedar fill my nose, but it doesn’t stop me.

My heart is racing with my pulse, a bloody trail, a trickle of self-hatred following my destruction as I rip at the bedding, throwing pots and pans, tools and trinkets, gifts .

I sob because I miss my home. Because I am fucked , because there is no escape, no mercy to be found while I stand in an abundance of it.

For once, I want to be ungrateful.

Disagreeable.

Unreasonable, even.

I want to say no and have someone listen to it.

“FUCK!!! FUCK!!! FUCK!!!” I scream until my voice cuts out from the power of it.

It’s hoarse when I begin again. I scream at my mothers and sisters for letting this go on, for not seeing him for what he was.

I scream at the woods for being so fucking dense, for nearly killing me.

I scream at the fox for saving me, at Elric for simply existing.

For being so kind, so helpful, because I cannot understand why, and the weight hanging above my shoulders has only been lifted to be replaced by another.

I scream because I was born in New Eden, because I was born to bleed and breed, and because I do not know how to read or write even a single word.

That I cannot do the job he asked of me, that I am too ashamed to admit it.

I scream for those I left behind because they cannot afford to.

For every atonement and unwilling bride, dressed in white and washed in oils that smell of cinnamon. I scream.