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  • She got up. Tears were running down her face. Colors mixed in a strange way. Her lips were salty, her back hurt, her legs, her arms and her hands were shivering. Her eyes were red. She couldn’t see properly and her room was moving in circles. She barely knew whether she was stepping on the floor or on the roof or maybe on the wall. But she got to open the window. She didn’t get too near, for she was afraid of jumping out of it. And that was something she just couldn’t let herself do.

    She caressed the air coming in, she smiled at the cold air taking her soul back to her body and making the room slowly stop run around her. She was now lying on the bed, looking at the moon and the stars. Well, trying to. Feeling the black of the night getting into the room and caressing it, wishing she could turn into that blackness and not be seen anymore. She wished she was not in that house, or in that room. She wished things could be changed.

    Her father was once a kind man who sometimes talked to her, who sometimes was interested on what she thought, or on what she wanted. But good things are not forever. He was now a stranger for her. A stranger who only shouted and wanted her to just think what he believed and to listen to who he listened. A stranger who didn’t care about anyone anymore. A stranger who had slowly broken his soul into pieces and had been giving them to his wife: a woman who had been working on those pieces everyday and had turned them into something more similar to her broken pieces of hate and violence. He was not loving anymore and he shouts and insults and runs away from any kind of compromise, any kind of kindness or listening or wondering whether things can be done in a different way or can be changed. His face wasn’t kind anymore either. His voice was made of metal and his drops of saliva flying when shouting were sharp knives hurting everyone and everywhere. Or maybe he had always been like that and her little girl’s eyes just hadn’t seen it.

    She sat down. Her whole body was hurting. She could feel her leg was hurt and her back and her arm. She breathed deeply and her lung hurt too. It was just difficult. Why did people had to be so violent? Why couldn’t people speak and ask? Why would some people expect others to do what they tell them when they tell them to? Why would someone like that work where she works?

    Her mother was another kind of monster. But she had always been. Always. She had always been shouting, beating, kicking. She had always expected the little girl to do what she wanted her to do and to be a silent girl. She had always been telling the little girl she would never amount to anything, she wasn’t worth anything. She wouldn’t listen to her daughter, if she really was her daughter. Had that woman ever loved her? Had that woman ever cared for her? Was that woman really her mother? No, she was sure she wasn’t.

    She just wanted to go away. But how could she abandon her little sister? The only one who hugged her from time to time? The only one who sometimes listened to her? The only one who maybe loved her a little bit? How? But, after all, she had a bit of a monster too. And only the little girl could decide if she wanted to be a monster or to be kind. And it made her heart shiver. It made her fear.

    The little girl was not the only one with a bit of a monster. She herself was a bit of a monster and had run away from that house twice. Leaving the little girl alone. It was, after all, her fault if the little girl had a bit of a monster. But she was a one too. A selfish monster sometimes. A selfish monster who wanted to change things. But change them what for? Only for her being calm and sure? Only for her not to be afraid? Only for her to have love? A selfish monster maybe. Her mouth was salty again and her heart shivered.

    Yes, she had run away twice. But she would run away for a third time. And this time it would be the last time. The real run away. And she would run so far away that no one would know her. And there, she would kill that monster. And would be loving to the little girl and to all those she would find and grow to love and care for.

    She couldn’t stand the pain, but she made an effort and turned on the computer. She listened to some music while she wrote some words on a paper. Those words spoke of loneliness. Of how most of the people around her were strangers. But those words spoke of change. Change not outside herself but inside her. How she would learn to love herself a bit more. How she would never let anyone else hit her or shout at her or treat her badly. Those words spoke of new strength. Those, were words of sadness and happiness. Those, were words of hope.
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