I don’t remember being hit or yelled at, let alone the weather getting warmer. It wasn’t until I walked outside one afternoon when the sun was at its peak that I almost stepped on a bright little flower, that I had woken up. How could such a little thing stop me in my tracks, hard? The pain had muted me whole for so long. For how long? Long. I was a lemon, sour, wanted to squeeze out the bottled up anguish. But I could not. They would see me.
A thought had come to me, that if I could share this with the others, then maybe they would wake up too. I plucked the flower from its root. I felt a little guilty doing that. Guilt, something we all feel on a daily basis, not because we want to, but because we’re trained to feel that way. I thought, screw it. Enough has been sacrificed. This flower will do so much good.