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My room scares me. The dead silence at night as I lay in my bed...haunts me. The shadows, they keep me wondering. Yet, even they fade away, and I am left in a void. It seems impossible that I could still peer through the endlessness, but I did. I know I am being watched. Or perhaps, it's my mind playing tricks. I'd like to believe that was true.

I cover my body with thick blankets, hoping the feeling of cold hands will not reach me. I screw my eyes shut, hoping then I will be safe from what I see. But, the attempts to put my mind at ease are shattered by the whispers that invade the silence. I've learned to live with the fear of eyes upon me overnight.

Tonight, however, is different. Those eerie whispers dance across my room-first, they echo from inside the closed doors of my closet, then steadily move towards my dresser next to where I lay my head. They grow closer, and I hold my breath in fear and force myself into a mantra, "I'm simply crazy." I'd rather be crazy. I don't want this to be real. I want to be crazy.

These wordless whispers tickle my ear and I scurry to the other side of my bed with blankets in tow, huddling close to the wall. But they follow me. I can't escape. I can't leave my room and cry out for help. My mother... My mother beat me last time. She believes I'm crazy. I want her to be right. I have the urge to jump out of bed and hurry to her room, just to feel her hands upon me as she leaves bruises, cuts and welts on my body. I want her to scream at me and tell me I'm just a crazy person. But I don't, because in turn, my father will beat her for touching me. Father loves me.

I love Mother.



(To be continued)