Excerpt: Writing on the Ground

I am not that bitch’s daughter; he is not that bastard’s son. We are not their children, no matter how much they say we owe them, no matter how insanely grateful they claim that we should be. They have never cared, except for when they thought someone was watching; they have never helped, except when it was themselves they were helping. I will not stay here one day longer than I have to, one day longer than it takes for him to decide that I’m right and that leaving is the only option. I will not leave without him, but when he is ready, we will leave, and we will be free. We have no family to stay here for; they are not our family, and we are not theirs. Family would not raise its own in such a life. Family would not treat its own in such a way. Family would not create such a monster, the one I have to shove aside and ignore to keep going through the day. But someday, someday soon, we will escape. My brother, my monster and I will escape, and we will be free. We will be free.

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Imagine waking up one morning and realizing that you were no longer the person you thought you were. Imagine that you suddenly could do things you could never before do, could understand things you could never before understand, could be things you could never before be. Imagine discovering strength beyond belief, but also weakness beyond compare. Imagine not understanding who you had become, or even who you were anymore. Imagine being scared, terrified even, and running to those closest to you for an explanation, for a word of comfort, for something to add some sense to the world you had suddenly found yourself thrust into. Imagine being given none of that, being called a freak and a monster and suddenly going from beloved child to despised creature, basement dweller, embarrassment of the generation. Imagine who you would become. Imagine what you would have to do in your own mind to keep from falling apart completely. Imagine it hard, and imagine it well. Then, and only then, may you judge my sister.