jackieroro
"Cheap," they jeered. "Whore," "slut."
But I was used to it. I learned to block the words out.
It almost doesn't hurt anymore.
The keychain dangled from her purse, a reminder of what she once had. She thinks about removing it every day, then hesitates just as she is about to do so. It shouldn't be this hard. It should be easy to forget. She just can't do it.
Today is like all the other days. She moves her hand away.
I am strong.
I am not a coward. I do not give in. I am not afraid of anything.
I eat fear for breakfast. I take on any challenge.
I never cry. I don't show emotions.
I am strong.
I sat in the cursed chair, waiting for the moment he brought out his shears.
I wasn't tied down, but I couldn't move.
Shink. The sound of metal being unsheathed. I saw the glint of the light on the silver blades in the mirror.
How I hate the barber.
The two women were sitting at a bench. Neither woman knew the other, but both were watching their toddlers play on the playground.
"Hello," said one to the other
"Hello," came the reply
The two women went back to sitting in silence. It was a forgettable exchange.
The outlet sparked.
"Oh," I remarked to myself, "that can't be good."
Stupidly, I knelt down on the floor to get a better look.
I don't know what I was thinking.
It sparked again. This time one of the sparks hit my nose.
I cried out, expecting pain.
But it didn't hurt.
In fact it kind of tickled.