I was always a quiet child, not raising my hand, and softly scribbling at the back of a classroom. I loved the way words rolled off my tongue and how when you strung them together they could depict a image so powerful, so complete, and it would be all your own. That was the key of course, only my parents knew but I was very strong-willed. I wanted control all the time – little did they know I needed it. So as I grew older and their constraints ever tightened, I outgrew the wire cage they kept me in and broke through. They did not notice. A bent wire and silent escape, into a world where only I could fight. But it was into the shadows I landed, and not the light.
Yes, I always was a quiet girl, so no one blinked an eye when I finally started to take control of what I thought would make me happy. Skin and bones my eyes searched for, searches deleted from history. A diary, full of numbers, a measuring tape and scale, from which the numbers came. It was a dark grave which I had fallen into, and as the dirt covered me overhead my only hope was to keep on digging. So further a further into the rabbit hole I went, until I felt the heat from the core and the pressure of tons of dirt above. And so here I stay, unsure where to dig for it’s too dark to see the right direction.