Tiger, Tiger Hear My Cries

   Have you ever lived two lives? Or have troubles in trusting people? Add both of those up and it will equal my life. It’s actually harder than it sound.

   My parents died when I was only nine years old. I was told many times that they died from a car crash and of course, being a little girl, I believed them. I believed their lies. I knew that everyone thought that I was foolish, gullible, and a freak. But something kept me hanging on to Earth’s gravity and it was something I will solve no matter the situation. I knew my parents didn’t die from a car crash.

   Being now ten years old and beginning fifth grade, you have to ‘fit in’ to be “in the group.” Though I was never accepted in any. Every time somebody would pass me by, I would look at them in the eyes and I would see nothing but pure fear, I was considered a freak by many and a friend by none.

   Throughout middle school I was often teased because I always wore black and always kept my head down. I never talked unless I needed to answer a question from the teachers or staff members. I also always wore a hood on. If it wasn’t a hood it was a hat. Just to cover up half my face. Because I knew being teased because I was a freak would be enough, I didn’t want to be teased because I wasn’t good looking either. I know I’m not allowed to wear any hats or hoods on during school hours but since I have a four point zero GPA, they decided to let it slide.

   One day during eighth grade I was being teased as usual. And as usual, I’d ignore them. But once I turned around and started walking to my class, I heard one of them say, “At least my parents loved me.” That hit me. It hit me really hard. I stopped dead in my tracks, my face red with anger and hatred, and dashed off for the person who said that.

   I wasn’t thinking straight; all I knew was that I needed to discard this person. Let him leave this world. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was only using actions against words. Until I heard a person yell out, “Oh my god! She’s going to kill him!” Those words opened my door to reality and I opened my eyes to see blood on my hands and the person I was hurting bloody and unconscious.

   My body trembled with fear as I looked at my sore and murderous hands. That was the last thing I saw before I was pulled away and then I blacked out.

   I never forgot that day and I don’t think I ever will. I was almost charged with assault but the teachers, principals, and a few witnesses said that it was the guy who had started it with his words, for that I cannot be charged with anything but detention.

   Now, I’m currently a junior in high school. I was still the same person from fifth grade. I never changed. Sure, I grew out my lady parts and my face, believe it or not, actually became pretty.

   I still had my pale skin tone and my square shaped face, though my cheek bones were a little bit deeper, my eyes are a much brighter blue, and my hair is longer, softer, wavy, and a reddish brown color. Though I still kept it hidden in the shadows.

   Even though I changed my features, I was still often teased, bullied, and stepped on. People kept wondering why I’m still alive, why I haven’t committed suicide, why I wasn’t gone. Believe me, I’ve thought about that. Though there’s still a strong and powerful force that has held me on Earth’s ground. And I can feel some teachers saying that I am strong and intelligible, that I can make it. But they are not saying it to my face. Not like my mother used to.

   I remembered when I was about seven or eight years old, every night before I went to bed my mommy would kiss my forehead and sit on the bed with me. She told me a story about a tiger that was tiny and scared whom learned to become big, fierce, but beautiful. She said that I’m just like that tiger. I’m fierce but also beautiful. And I would always smile when she said that. I felt happy and loved. She closed the story by kissing me on my forehead and singing me a sweet lullaby until I fell asleep peacefully.

   But now, I would sleep with nightmares. The nightmares I had were like pieces of clues to fix my parents’ deaths. But I can’t seem to get it together. It’s like trying to put a one thousand pieced puzzle together in less than thirty minutes.

   I missed my mom’s story. I missed my mommy and daddy’s voice. Dad always said to me, “Be strong. Be fierce and beautiful. Like the tiger in the story.” These thoughts brought painful tears in my eyes.

   I have one mission on this earth I need to solve. Because I know my parent’s didn’t die from a car crash. They died with murder. I just don’t get how they could just let it go like that and lie to me. I don’t trust anyone anymore.

   My name is Rosabella Swan and this is the story of my hidden lives...

© Copywright All Rights Reserved by Cathleen B.