Ruyton Girls' School - Scripsi 2016

Fresh-Fallen

Snow

andangry at theworld– afraidyou’dbecome another responsibility

I would just let down– that is what happened. You had come

home with tears streaming down the contours of your face,

blotching the mascara I had watched you meticulously apply just

two hours prior. You collapsed into the ocean of pastel-coloured

sheets, wrapping yourself in a fetal position. You were just sixteen

and he’d broken your heart. The fury and undeniable desire to

break anyone who dared to hurt you ripped through me but your

faint whimpers pulled at something deeper. So I came over,

bundling you up in my arms, stroking your raven hair like I had

done every night since the nightmares refused to go away. Silence

accompanied us for hours and together we watched the dawning

sun’s first light flood into the bowl of the midnight sky; violet, blue

and orange, and I made a decision. You were fresh-fallen snow, a

purity the ground would only tarnish, so I bottled you up in jars

and locked you away.

tick… tick… tick…

I pushed you away by sheltering you too much. Deprived you of

experiencing life in fear you’d get hurt –not wanting you to repeat

my mistakes –did I suffocate you? So you went out on your own

searching, got into it with the wrong people – like mother like

daughter I guess. You lost your way; pierced yourself with metal

and marked yourself in ink. You tried and experimented with

foreign substances. I found the empty vials, the discarded needles,

the white power that so closely resembled snow.

tick… tick… t-t-tic–

Time’s hand jerks and stutters; twitching in a violent manner back

and forth. Then it goes still, hovering in the space between the

‘11’ and ‘12’.

The two metal doors swing open as a man donning cerulean

scrubs trudges out. Dishevelled with dark smudges beneath his

eyes, fatigue weighs down his heavy steps. Somewhat hesitantly,

he lifts his eyes from the suspicious scarlet stains that blemish the

otherwise bleached-cleaned floors and scans the room of hunched

shoulders; he settles upon mine. He makes no attempt to mask his