Author: EMMERT

My parents. Every day they fight and every night I hide. Every word they scream is because of me and every tear or lamp or vase that hits the ground is my fault. It’s a natural reflex, I just block out everything they scream. I hear the yelling but not the words. They don’t look at me or speak to me or acknowledge me in any possible way. To them I’m invisible.

“Him” is what I call him, you could say it’s because I don’t know his name but to me there is no name for his force, only the single syllable of Him. The sun is setting and I know that if I want to see him, I’ll have to leave now. I pull open the window to my room I stick my head outside.

There is frost on the grass and I chill in my bones, but my teeth don’t chatter, Read more →

October of my sophomore year, when the leaves had just begun to fall off the trees, the Quiet Girl moved into the house next door. I remember the day perfectly. I broke my leg the day before and had just begun my two week mandatory bed rest. Her room was situated so that, from my bed, I could see from my window, and into hers.

With nothing else to occupy my time, I learned a lot about my new neighbor. From the books that piled up next to her bedside table, I learned she liked to read. From the notebooks she filled, I learned she liked to write. She had a very nice, top-of-the-line PC, but she never plugged it in. Her room was sparsely decorated, odd for a girl, although at 15, how much did I really know about girls? She spent the majority of her time in her room alone, and no one came to visit. After two weeks of watching my neighbor, I learned very little about her, and what I had learned only made me ask more questions. Read more →