DESCRIPTION
Wrote this about three years ago as a GCSE 'Victim Writing' piece. Am annoyed with the way I finish it, think it's a bit untidy and possibly too sentimental. Still I was 16! [986 words]
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Tortured J L Watts
He knew he was different.Acknowledgement of that fact could have
made him feel better but it didn't. He was too far lost in the arms
of despair to care about it anymore. He remembered vividly the tests
and the prodding and the questioning. He remembered all too well the
instant accusation, the mass of pointing fingers waving vigorously,
like branches in the wind toward his direction. He remembered the
acceleration of his heart, the pounding of his temples, the resounding
sound of his running muted slightly by the thick white carpet of snow.
He didn't remember much after that. Nor did he care much either.
Kira was nervous. Years of experience dictated that she had the proven
ability to ignore the nagging feeling, but this time was different.
She scanned the file again and sighed. Aaron Denton. Aged 16. A history
of mild offences. Currently loacted in Sacramens Children's Home. Nothing
on the file was particularly unusual. She'd always thought of him as a quiet
perhaps lonely boy, who was the type you'd often see but never really know.
Kira tried to dismiss what she'd known of him before, preferring to house an
opinion of him once she'd actually met im properly in their first session.
Besides, a lot of what she'd heard about him seemed unfair - for instance
she'd always found it slightly strange as to why the cause of his 'mental
disorder' status had always been so finalised. People appeared like they
didn't want to help him, although such an action was unthinkable to someone
as thorough and level minded as Jessica Kira, whose experienced mind and
attitude would not tolerate or allow for discrimination on any level, for
whatever cause,or excuse.
Nostalgia was not a comon feeling for Kira. Few people had had such a
torturous upbringing, but as she listened to Eminem Tarak a feeling of
deja vu, beginning midly but gradally engulfing her. She his this feeling,
although consciously difficult, from Denton with a well used veil of
professionalism.
Alright, so there were differences, she mused. For instance Denton didn't
have to wear a symbol of his culture on his arm nor had he the constant
lingering memory of a devasting experience in which his mother and sister
had been slaughtered right in front of his young,raw,terrified eyes.
He hadn't been given such cramped living conditions that people literally
clung to the walls, nor had he he been depraved of food and water for
significant periods of time. He hadn't watched his friends die, his grandparents
suffer the indignity... Kira realised with shock her hand was clenched and so she
parted her palm for fingers slowly, slipperly through sweat. As she listened more to
Denton, shre learnt that the basis of their discrimination was similar, and from this
she drew upon a strange, almost perverse, sense of comfort. She could relate to the
boy.
Denton had taken a while to open, but whilst teasingly at first he began to converse.
The with increasing confidence the words began to literally flow out of his mouth like
a waterfall cascading down the riverbank and with the same intensity. Presently Kira had
declined from telling him her own background, so when he broached the subject the Child
Psychiatrist was taken aback at his blunt attitude.
"I suppose I do" she replied hesitantly, dismissing that last image of her brother's hand
slipping from her hers all those years ago.
"What exactly does that mean Miss Kira" he asked, evidently not backing down.
Kira quickly mulled over her current postion. She was extremely conscious about telling
people her history, preferring to stem out an interest in moulding a present and a future
than reliving her torrid past to people. Considering her job as a a Psychiatrist, she found
this dryly ironic.
"What it means is - is - I was a victim like you," she stammered breathlessly.
"Like me"? he repeated.
She wasn't sure if the reply was mockery or geniune belief. After
looking at him a while, she was convinced the latter. She could see equally the pain and steely
determination that centered his hard set brown eyes. Was it imagination or was that look a
reflection of her past?
"Similar I suppose," she finally managed.
"You're, you're Jewish aren't you?"
Kira wasn't sure if she was more shocked by his accuracy or his bluntless.
"I am" she flatly stated. Kira was uncomfortable-not violated-just
uncomfortable- she felt like a hollowed out shell, her shileding having been
drastically removed.
She wondered how hee knew, acutely a where the session was concentrated more on
her, but beofre she could delve into Denton's thoughts she was inturrupted by one
of the Sacramen workers- it was time for Denton to retire. The brief locking of Kira
and Denton's eyes was enough to tell her their as yet brief link wasn't over, their
relationship just beginning.
Over the next few weeks Jessica Kira continued to meet this society considered outcast.
A wide range of emotions conveyed er anger at her wasted early years. They began to form a
bond which few others could. Unlike brother and sister or husband and wife. But it was
profound and had geniune potential to grow with the passing of time.
Denton's narrow, pessimistic outlook on life was being altered; he began to open up even
more on his past in confidence to Kira. For once he was being listened to, accepted with
out judgement of his character. Kira gradually became convinced that he wasn't guilty of
his accused crimes.
He was back. The pointing fingers, vividly sticking out, pointing angrily like razor sharp
knives. Each accusation puzzled him. Each insult appearing unnecessarily. he curled into a
ball,human hedgehog, trying in vain to find a way out. She had taught him that the torturous maze
didn't have an exit, but it did have an easier way through. He lifted up, and for the first time
met the accusation directly in the eyes, with confidence.
And even though the bridges were harder to knock down, so did she. Mum, Dad, Bamps, Nana, Claire...
they were gone. For the first time she began to accept that. It was time for her to live. A survivor.
The struggle had lessened.
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"It's nice for a sixteen-year-old. Still, you should have worked it more - it has many errors of all sorts. And, if I'm allowed to ask: why did you post this if you're annoyed by it? And what makes you think that people would be interested in reading something from your teen years? It's ok for you to do it, but why the exposure? Is this text worth showing others? " -- Sarrabisco.
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