candeebar2
My palms begin to sweat as I stare at the basket being passed around the pews. It seems like everyone is dropping a five into the woven bowl. It gets closer and closer as I nervously glance around, making sure no one is looking. It is set into my lap. I pull my closed fist out of my pocket, and open my hand, dropping a measly nickel onto the pile. Passing it on to the person beside me, I pray that someday I will be able to contribute more.
I stare at the mirror, but the woman who looks at me is not who I am. This woman is badly burned all over her face. Her nose, her once perfectly curved lips, and her normally bright eyes were no longer shaped how they used to be. Why me? I asked myself, as I pulled my hood over my face and sighed.
I couldn't help but drift off a little bit as I felt the comforting, foamy bubbles cling to my skin. The warmth of the water was divine, and I sipped my wine slowly, savoring the rich flavor. I sighed to myself, feeling slightly guilty for the indulgence, but deep inside, I was finally happy. I deserved this.
I gasped, trying to breathe in the thick, sultry air, as my old, torn up Converse pounded the ground. I hoped I wasn't too late. Maybe he would still be waiting? As I approached the corner, I suddenly got a sense of fear. What if he had left? Got bored and went home? I closed my eyes as I approached the corner, afraid of what would happen when I reopened them. I stopped short, gasping for air, as I stared at the abandoned bus stop.
He was gone.
I sit at my tattered desk in the corner, straining my eyes to see the board. I don't understand why we don't get nice, clean desks and new, shiny books like the other kids. I sigh to myself, trying to write my name with a dull pencil, but the tip barely makes any marks, so I have to trace over it a few times. The Elizabeth Eckford at the top of the page is barely visible. I sigh to myself, wondering if it's really worth all of this, just to be educated.
I knew I would regret this, running away. My master always told me that if I had any sense, I'd stay with him, but i didn't listen. I ain't gonna listen to him, if he's gonna whip me when ever I misstep. I hate my punishment, but I hate my master even more. Why couldn't I have been born freed?
writing since 2013 · 14 entries · 12 days shown up
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