the Aftermath (adult theme)

Memories are like splinters of wood, buried deep within our skin ... we never really know how far they are embedded, or how long they will be when we attempt to pull them out.  Part One is silent but Screaming.  I believed this piece would be finished in two parts ... I was wrong. he clung to her like a filmwater hot enough to welt her skincould not remove him, soap could not clean deep enoughwhen her eyes closed, there were imagestrapped there, silhouettes in darkened spacesit was easier to sit there, soaking wet with eyes wide openwaiting for dawn to come there was no room in her life for regret,no time to shut out the world and hideshe buried it all, pain, guilt, self-loathingthere were more important things to considerdisjointed time dragged her through leaden days of routinestepping one.foot.at.a.time to keep from falling days became weeks, three dozen nights of waking to blacknessmuffling a scream that never found its way to the surface the calendar turned, and she knewwithout arithmetic, without hesitationshe knew the door she had been trying to close against one momentwas forced open by a single page of white squares with black numbersunchangeable, undeniable, unquestionablethrowing her against the wall, sinking to the floor,drowning, I’m drowning...drowning when she was seventeen, she did not believe in choicewhen she was seventeen, she rallied and protestedpropaganda and education joined hands, holding her beliefs but Now.   Now was not Then. Then was not knowing what Now could be. different numbers upon yellow pages, hands trembling,decision made, struggling to keep her voice steady on the phonealthough they had surely heard it all on the other end of that line as she cradled the phone, she sobbedthe scream caught in her throatfighting to escapeagain