Lot

I didn’t want to write this story. It came out of years of desperation. Years of trying to claim my peace and never reaching it. Years of abuse and mistreatment. Years of stupid gullibility, of neglecting my dreams, of putting myself second so that others may love me. We only have one life to live and it is our choices that define our reality.

My mind, my body has bared all that it can. It no longer works in the conventional way but now seeks vacations every so often because it cannot handle what I have made of myself. No I’m not a prostitute drug addict but I’ve been treated like one, despised like one, seen as one and by no others than my own clan, my flesh and bone, my family.

I never did anything to deserve my treatment but such is life, it gives what it gives and we make due and survive.

But I wanted to thrive to fly with the best of them to reach the heavens and touch the stars. I wanted to be one, a shiny shimmering spectacle. A beauty, not a beast. But I am a beast. A monster. A deformed and challenged being. I cannot walk on my own two feet again and like a paraplegic I spend most of my days in bed wasting my time away. Not knowing which way to go and waiting for death instead. But the breath of life still lives in me and I cannot take it away. I hold no power over my life let alone my death.

And then I think it is my curse. My eyes have seen and it was not good. But I am a beast and not a God. I cannot undo what has been done. This is my place, my lot to work, to churn, mull over and turn. But how to turn, how to harvest in a land that has been soiled and has no more? The land is dry and there’s no water. A few weeds grow but even they do toil. Though I’m young I’ve been made old before my time and like a bruised and battered fruit I am no good and start to spoil.

The flower of my heart has wilted and bringing light into the dark and desolate corners of that world only pains my tired eyes. I have been raised in darkness and now that light is at my door I cannot see.

I am a wild and tainted beast. Who can love me? Not even me.

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