“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I slammed the door, enclosing me in a cubic sanctuary. Salt water stung my eyes while cascading into a small puddle. Completely isolated from mankind, disputes were enacted in my mind.
“Entiende, eres una chiquilla, no sabes nada de la vida!” “Understand that you’re a little girl who knows nothing a bout life!” That shrill voice penetrated my eardrums.
The two limbs that supported my gravitational weight gave way as I grasped my cell phone, examining it with curiosity. I held it high, recreating Newton’s third law. Grey plastic pieces danced with rage on blue tiled floor. I paced cautiously toward my bed, not wanting to assault a tranquil atmosphere. Stress from my mind and body overpowered me as I sank onto my comforter. A swirl composing majestic gold’s and blacks revealed a photo. Memories long forgotten were brought forth from my back chambers: time warped me to seven years prior.
Hands clapping chaotically engulfed us ten year old girls. Monarch butterflies rapidly flew everywhere through my stomach, causing tissue which constructed my organs to flutter with excitement. I searched a large auditorium for she who gave me life.
“Is your mom here, Eli?”
“Not today, De’Leisha, she she’s busy.”
Those words had long last their comfort, snapping me back to seeing reality, as I stepped on stage.
I arrived home from competition, and the spicy, aromatic kitchen led more toward my mother.
“Mom, we won second place!”
“Don’t bother me with nonsense.”
She’d always objected to any new tasks I wished for.
I want to attend a Dallas college, commencing a new beginning. My interests lead me to pursue nurse practitioning: helping people has pleased me since an early age. As a child, whenever someone got injured, I offered support. Cleaned and bandaged torn flesh. Fellow classmates ridiculed me for carrying as small first aid kit, but I simply smiled.
On plenty of afternoons, I’ve tried persuading my mom’s understanding.
“Leaving Mineola will help me create a better future.”
“You’re not leaving: you’re too young.”
I’m turning eighteen, although this doesn’t prove I can handle real life experiences. My leaving home is inevitable: I’ve noticed she ignores actual facts. Mother’s love their children, some so much they can’t bear letting go.
Crushed dreams have happened to me before. Now, I hold myself as first hand accomplice for contributing to unwanted schemes. No longer shall I permit negative vibes to pulse inside me. I’ve been granted one life that will hold a multitude of mistakes. Living another as a puppet cannot continue.
I believe people should encourage dreams, rather than destroy them.
Standing up, tropical bachata beats, move my feet on impulse to me, dancing is no nonsense.
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