December 1st 2014
I suppose I’ve got to write this down. It’s been so long. The memories are so fuzzy. What came first? I can’t remember the order. I guess I should start with this.
I remember my mother, hiding me under the only bed we had, telling me to keep quiet. I remember the fear. Not mine. Hers. How scared she looked. I remember the smell of sulfur. It was everywhere, in the air, on my clothes, my hair, the bedsheets. I remember my short, shallow breaths as I kept as still as I could, as quiet as I could. I remember shaking, asking myself when she would come back.
And then I heard her screams. I’d never heard anything like it. They are scarred into my memory. I rushed out of the room to go find her, even if she’d told me not to move. I remember the blood, everywhere. The smell, even worse than the sulfur. And their faces. The way they looked at me. These people with scary faces. And I knew, the second I saw them, that it was me they were look