Morgan

Darkness spins around her. Curiosity and concern enters her mind as the unfamiliarity of her situation leaves her uneasy and her stomach queasy. Beads of sweat drip down her forehead, as she tries to assess her situation. She attempts to move forward, but her feet are planted into the ground, her toes thick roots embedded into the floor below, refusing to budge.The empty void continues to swirl around her, almost as if it was alive. Her heart rate increases, as she begins to scream, begging whatever was holding her captive to let her go. The dark cloud responds to her pleas, by becoming increasingly violent, ripping and tearing at her. Clutching at her chest, her screams become dampened by the wrath of this thing and she gets on her knees and begins to pray. Tears flow from her face as the darkness slows down, preparing to pounce on its prey. Putting her hands to her face, she accepts her fate, as she closes her eyes and utters “God be with my soul,” under her breath, as the darkness collapses on her.

A deep gasp fills her lungs as she lurches up from her bed, her eyes slowly adapting to the light. The light from the dawn breaking gives her comfort that what she had witnessed didn't actually happen. Her heartbeat pounds inside her chest as she looks over her hands. “Calm down. It was just a dream.” She repeats that phrase in her mind until her breaths slow down and her heart rate calms. Her hands are shaking, as her dream felt real. Never in her life has she experienced that and it terrified her to the core to think about.  

Shaking her mind from what she just experienced, she began to wake up for the day. Sliding out of bed, she walks over to the shower, in hopes that she can calm down for a moment. Turning the nozzle brings frigid water, but quickly replaced with a soothing heat, while she collects her thoughts. The hot water flows off her back, rejuvenating her again, almost wiping away her fears and her troubles, making it almost impossible to leave the warmth. Stepping out of the shower, she gets dressed for the day, a faded pair of jeans, and a plaid flannel.

As she slipped on her clothes, she didn’t feel right. A dark feeling filled her stomach, making her almost sick and on the verge of throwing up. In the church she attended, they always told her that feeling was when you did something wrong and God didn’t approve. Yet, when she searched her mind, digging for anything that may have been enough to lose the light of God, she couldn’t think of anything. “Why do I feel this way then if I haven’t done anything wrong?” It scared her that she didn’t have the answer to that inquiry.

In her dark room, with the faint light making its way into her room, she looked into her bedroom mirror, staring down the person standing across from her. In that piece of glass she saw a girl, alone, and afraid. She despised who she saw, as she stared back into her pale blue eyes. “The eyes are the window to the soul.” She thought to herself as her icy stare burned into her memory. William Shakespeare nailed it on the spot as she looked into her eyes and saw the darkness and pain that they emitted. Inside of her, she felt pain, something that is almost impossible to describe. She didn’t know why she felt this way, but she hated the dark void that filled her soul. She wanted to push the reflection away, hoping that she could run away from who she was.

“Morgan! Come upstairs!” Her mother called, taking Morgan’s mind off the dark thoughts that swim inside her head. Her mother’s voice echoed into the hallway, flowing into her room hitting Morgan with a force that only a mother can muster. “Coming!” Morgan faintly responded, her quiet voice drowned out by the commotion from upstairs. “WHAT?” Her mother’s voice hollered back, again thundering throughout the household. “I’m coming! Goodness!” Morgan yelled back, her voice now becoming more prominent in the distant conversation.

Morgan slugged up the stairs, each step creaking beneath the her feet. The stairs sound like dull moans, as if the house begs for rest. Making her way upstairs, the bright lights of the kitchen cause her weary eyes to ache, as she connects with the worn out eyes of her mother. Her mother looked tired, as she gave a weak smile. Morgan’s mother, Jessica, was a small Texan woman who signified everything opposite of a Texan. Jessica was small in her build with pretty blue eyes and a genuine smile. She was a sensitive woman, who had a compassionate heart and a devout love for God. Morgan always liked her mom’s eyes, the bright pale blue that made everyone feel comfortable around her.

“Hello!” Her mother whispered, in a feeble, but loving tone. “You dressed and ready?” Her mother asked, trying to start up a conversation. Morgan gave a reaffirming grunt as she sat down at the barstool. Her mother continued, “Ready for school today?” Trying to make eye contact, with Morgan, but her child refused the offer. Morgan’s eyes darted down to her feet as she gave off another grunt, as her hair covered her face, the human veil that provided her with safety from her mother’s eyes. Her mother quickly got the hint that her daughter was in no mood to talk, and went back to tending the eggs.

Inside, Morgan felt sick. She knew she had no illnesses, she was doing fine for now, but the thought of eating the eggs repulsed her. The smell was intoxicating and she wanted to convulse. She was confused, usually she doesn’t mind eggs or anything whatsoever, but nothing seemed appealing to her. Her stomach churned with the thought of food, and Morgan wanted to weasel out of eating, and get to the bus stop that was five minutes away.

Morgan’s mother slapped the eggs onto the blue plate that was sitting on the barstool. The steam from the poultry rose up into Morgan’s face, forcing her to look up again. “I’m not hungry.” Morgan simply stated as she looked back down into the floorboards below, pushing the yellow mesh away from her. “Why?” Her mother retorted, “I made these special for you!” Her mother was starting to guilt trip her into eating, and it certainly caused Morgan to feel bad, but she wasn’t changing her mind. “Just take a bite.” Her mother pleaded, trying to cope her firstborn into eating. “I said I’m not hungry.” Morgan’s voice quickly became deeper, and darker, and slower. The hint of anger with each syllable, each word coated in venom of hate. Inside of her, a beast was stirring, awakening from its slumber from the pit of her heart. The dark eye from the animal as it began showing interest in the situation.  Morgan hoped that her message was clear, in hopes that she could leave and the beast would rest, but her mother had other thoughts. “Morgan, you will eat those eggs. I made them, and you will eat them.”

Anger consumed her, her frustration and hatred burned inside her chest. The best began stirring, as she fought back to refrain but she could no more. She had enough, and there was no stopping her now. “NO! I WILL NOT EAT YOUR FRIGGEN EGGS! I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU CARE SO MUCH!” Her sentences became rants, as she flung word after word at her mother, like bullets from Hell, who looked at her like a deer in the headlights. Morgan’s whole body was consumed with absolute fury. Her rant came to a close, as her mother stood in silence. Her mother thought to retaliate, but her common sense thought better of it as she watched her daughter slam the door to the outside world and into the rain.

Morgan stood in the rain, her anger like an inferno inside her chest. She trembled with frustration and her throat ached from her recent outburst. She wasn’t mad about the eggs, why should she? In fact, it wasn’t even her mom that was the problem. It was where she was going that she despised, and her mother was an easy way to take out her frustration. The bone chilling rain soaked her body as she stood on the corner of the street, waiting for the demonic machine to carry her to Hell. Watching the rain fall onto the pavement, the water a temporary glass on the streets reflected a dull glow from the houses around. Her mind raced around her head as she wondered why she shouted at her mom in the first place? “Why do I treat the ones I love most so poorly?” Her anger was replaced with guilt, and the sickness in her stomach sprouted inside again. The dark thought danced around her head, as she felt just as cold on the inside as it was outside. It felt fitting to her that the skies were so gray, almost as if her emotions dictate the weather.

As she waited for the school bus, dominating sadness swept in again, finding its familiar territory in her soul. The gloom radiated from her body, her face reflected off the ground. She looked dead on the outside just as she did inside. Looking up from pavement, she heard the sound of footsteps coming towards her. Down the road, emitted the sound of many different neighbors pacing down towards the bust stop, full of life and happiness, something she was jealous of. “Don’t they know how hard life is? What’s there to be happy about?” Surrounding the curb, ranges from twelve to seventeen, they each began talking about their days and what lied ahead of them. Typically the boys discussed football or basketball and their epic adventures from the weekend. She didn’t mind them much as the guys were usually rather annoying anyway, making her pleased when they didn’t pay attention to her either.

However, the ones she hated more were the girls. She didn’t understand why, but she saw that they always had the need to start drama. “Why the need to always bicker and fight with one another?” This sparked an interesting idea in her. “Why is it that we feel the need to talk about others?”  Why does the typical conversation go alongs the lines of, “Recently he said that she said the they said that I said that I was dating Jake. That is SO not true.” She stored that question in her mind for later, as she didn’t have the answer quite yet. The Girly Girl Gossip, as she liked to call them, will be flapping their mouths until the day they die, giving Morgan the time to ponder on her inquiry.

Looking to her left, she hears the familiar growl of the yellow bus that lulled around the dark bend. Clutching on her backpack straps, she took a deep breath, anticipating the slow roll of the bus stopping in front of her. The swing of the rusty doors pushed a cool breeze towards her, sending the chills through her body. She hopped onto the darkened steps, fearing what laid ahead. The rain caused her shoes to lose what felt like all of her friction, as she lost all balance. She gripped onto the handrail, in hopes it would stop her, but the floor was too slick, and the stairs became a slide. Morgan plowed into her peers at the opening of the bus. She tried her best to stop, but might as well stop a bulldozer. Morgan’s head bounced off the steps, each hit sending flashes through her vision, as the gasps and howls of pain could be heard as her body connected with each kid coming down. Morgan torpedoed out of the bus, stopped by a puddle in pavement. Her head rang, and her cheeks flushed as she stumbled getting herself off the floor. At first, it was quiet, the kids didn’t really know how to respond to the commotion they had just witnessed. Then, the mocking ensued, like a thunderstorm the students flung laughter and insults at her, driving her deeper down in darker sorrow. She rose up off the ground, and hung her head, as the laughter swarmed her thoughts and her spirit. The grime stuck into her hands, and the stench clung onto her clothes like a musk. Embarrassment flushed her face as she took the nearest seat and pushed her face into her arms.