It was only a matter of jumping. She looked down at her flowered rubber boots; the conduit of her escape.
Hesitating, she unconsciously twisted a section of her hair around her index finger. It was a nervous habit, like continually tucking her shoulder length hair behind her ears.
She heard those parental voices: “Keep doing that, and your hair will fall out. Keep doing that and your ears will stick out . . .” Thousands of those admonishments replayed in her head every day.
Worse were the school yard taunts. Words flung with vitriol; etched into her psyche like acid upon the skin.
She learned not to cry; not to trust. The world was too harsh; too unforgiving. So, she created her own place; a space filled with light and gentle breezes. Meadows full of wildflowers; woods full of bird song. Here, she could twirl like a ballerina, arms outstretched. Dance to invisible music. Breathe.
Try as she might, parental or school yard voices were whispers always growing louder. Her space would blur, dissolve, like chalk drawings in the rain. She needed to find a refuge where such voices were silenced.
She looked down at her flowered rubber boots. She held her breath, closed her eyes and jumped . . .
#writephoto portal Portal Image by Rebecca M. Douglass
written for: #writephoto portal (KL Caley)
my flowered rubber boots