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Cold Memories  by crazyfunkeeazn

I don't know what I did or have done, but I know that it wasn't enough to have those acts forced upon me.

I collapse onto the snow-covered ground, my feet numb from cold.

This world contains so much agony, so much pain. The trauma that possessed me, always comes back to haunt me every day; escape was and is never an option for my cluttered mind.

"No!" I'd cried, when my single best friend had died in a plane crash, seven years ago.

"No!" I'd cried, when my father had been carted off to jail, accused of theft, murder, and rape, five years ago.

"No!" I'd cried, when my mother drowned herself in the deep blue ocean, too melancholy to continue living with a wretched burden like me on her fragile shoulders, four years ago.

"No!" I'd cried, when I was involved in a holdup at a bank, a gun held to my head and a knife at my neck, forced to give up all my precious belongings, two years ago.

"No!" I'd cried, when I found out that my so-called boyfriend had cheated on me with not one, but two of my friends, last year.

"No!" I'd cried, when my clothes were brutally torn off and my ex-boyfriend pushed into me, again and again, despite my shrieks of agony and forceful struggling, last month.

"No!" I'd cried yesterday, when I fully realized that all I knew in this world, all I had, had been grabbed from my weak hands, leaving me desperate and searching for evanescent comfort, nonexistent security.

"No!" I cry now, falling to my knees to this cold, cruel world, one where no one will put aside time for a homeless teen.

I grab handfuls of soft white snow, letting the snow seep through my frozen fingers; like old memories running through, evading my feeble attempts to hold them back.

I've lost all I knew; I've lost all I had. Who can I trust anymore?

Life is now just nothing but ceaseless pain; oh, the suffering I undergo every day... I never know where my next meal will be, where my next bed will lie.

I close my eyes and sigh deeply as yet another memory surfaces in my mind.

The memory of a lonely little girl, hunched secretively over a kitchen sink, sobbing dreadfully... No one sees her; no one watches as she grasps a sharp steely knife, and runs it over her pale, exposed wrist... not deep enough to leave a visible mark, but enough to summon tiny crimson droplets...

Yet the pain had been too much for that little girl; why add physical pain to the emotional hurt that already existed?

Terrified of what she'd done, she'd dropped the knife and fallen to her knees, tears dripping down her bruised face... like I do now.

Horrified at that one act of indifferent self-injury, that little girl had sworn to herself she'd never bring it up again... never admit it was her... only leave the past behind, and wear a new mask of indifference and neutrality...

And now look at me. Recalling old memories as if they had occurred only yesterday.

But now, yesterday is like a curse to me.

I wipe my salty tears off and get to my feet. What is the point of crying over things that are unchangeable?

Tossing my backpack over my shoulder, I stroll down the stairs to the subway.

Digging through my soggy pack, I locate the ticket I bought yesterday; my heart feels a wrench as I remember exactly how I pickpocketed the elderly man.

"Excuse me," I ask a mysterious man near the bottom of the stairs. "Where is this subway headed next?"

He turns around suspiciously, but answers with the name of a city at least a good 200 miles from here.

"Perfect." I attempt a smile as best as I can; I haven't done so for a long time. "Thanks."

He lowers his sunglasses an inch so he can get a clearer look at my bedraggled appearance. I prayed for him not to inquire about my bruises, cuts, scratches, or rips.

After a moment, he said gently, "Take care, kid. It's a dangerous world out there."

"I'll be okay. Thanks again."

As I turned away, tears were ready to spring into my eyes again. I guess not all people are as heartless as my parents were.

I step close to the subway line, craning my neck to see if I can see the oncoming train.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going, but I guess it'll be a good time to start again... with the new beginning of a new life.

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  'Cold Memories' statistics: (click to read)
Date created: July 2, 2010
Date published: July 2, 2010
Comments: 0
Tags: beginning, cry, cutting, forget, girl, hardship, memories, tears
Word Count: 1031
Times Read: 189
Story Length: 1