Because I let her.
Now, as I sit in the darkness of this enclosed space, some clarity makes its way into my mind. Beyond the fear, beyond the panic that I might never see sunlight again, and that I might die next to a pile of old bones, there's a sudden realization.
I let her walk all over me.
Time and time again she'd insulted, hit, and punished me. Just because she could.
And me? For all my avowal of innocence, I'd been a willing participant. Because I'd allowed everything to happen.
I'd let them curse me out, hit me until my skin scarred, and torment me until the nightmares kept me awake at night.
How did I not see this before?
I'd been so busy feeling sorry for myself, and crying about my wretched state, that I hadn't stopped for a minute to wonder why I let it happen.
You didn't think you deserve more.
That's probably the most I'm willing to admit to myself, the truth opening me raw inside and making me glance at my own reflection.
I'd been so wrapped up in trying to be good, trying to go unnoticed by pleasing everyone, that I'd never once fought back.
And for the first time, I vow that if I make it out alive, I'm going to change.
I may not be able to control how others behave, but I can ensure that I'll never be seen as a weakling again.
Why be good when people are bad?
Why indeed.
All my life I'd tried to show people that I'm more than the mark on my face. That I'm not actually cursed. But no one's ever tried to see beyond my physical imperfections.
I'd been branded the devil's child from the very beginning, so I'd done my best to show everyone that I wasgood.
And for what?
Hours pass, and the coffin gets colder and colder. I try to ignore the thought that I'm sitting on top of someone's old bones, or the simple fact that I'm sharing a tiny place with a dead person.
I hone in on one thing—my growing resolve.
I'm done being everyone's punching bag, just like I'm done with being unwanted.
If they don't want me, then so be it. I won't want them either.
Abandon me once, shame on you. Abandon me twice… shame on me.
But next time, there won't be atwice.
If there is a next time.
A rooster'smorning call alerts me to the passage of time. My teeth clattering, my limbs stiff with cold, I'm barely aware of how long I've been in here.
There are a few crevices within the coffin that allow for some light, and I soak it all up, foolishly thinking it might warm my body.
I'm in and out of conscience after some time. Hunger and thirst are gnawing at me and I already resigned myself to never making it out of here.
"I wish…" I try to wet my already chapped lips with my tongue, my only thought to keep myself awake. "I wish," I start again, thinking about my birthday wish.
Maybe in another life…
