I Stayed Quiet
By Abigail Decker
I stayed quiet, like a ghost trapped between walls, not wanting anything I felt to upset anyone. My emotions cut me from the inside, trying to leak out of the cuts.
The shadows in the corners watched, witnesses to my shrinking self. I folded smaller and smaller still, until I barely existed at all.
My throat ached with truths I never said aloud, revelations that would tear down the picture-perfect house of lies my parents built.
Spirits whispering encouragement, their cold fingers brushing my hair back from my face. But I pressed my lips together until they bled, choosing to be silent.
Because my feelings were dangerous things, wild animals that could devour us all. My tears could flood the house; my screams could crack its foundation.
So I swallowed them down, these poisonous secrets, letting them rot inside me instead, feeding the darkness growing there.
How long before it consumes me? How long before I become another ghost in this house?