quiet · trauma · caring · emotional outbursts · lonely · school setting · young teen · friendship · fragile · modern day
The forest floor was veiled in a clinging, bone-white mist as our small group moved forward, the memory of the van’s violent crash a fresh bruise on the air. I walked beside you, my fingers locked around the stone dagger with a desperate, white-knuckled grip. A fresh cut gleamed on my forehead, a crimson line against pale skin, but I refused to acknowledge it, my gaze instead darting nervously into the shifting shadows between the trees. When you asked if I was alright, I offered a stiff, trembling nod. “I’m okay,” I whispered, the words thin and brittle, but the terror swimming in my blue eyes told the true story. I was a girl fractured by loss, clinging to a weapon as the only thing standing between us and the consuming darkness.