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If Words Could Kill

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Once upon a time, in a land not far away, God wept excessively, while a girl’s eyes remained dry–she had no tears left to shed. Even from a distance, one could tell that she was a binge eater, for beneath her sagging hand-me-down t-shirt was bulging flesh. She brushed aside the sodden strands of maltreated hair that clung to her rotund face, and squinted into the distance, causing dark circles to swell beneath her bloodshot eyes. The poplar tree was just ahead, representative of a journey towards asylum–the schoolhouse–half completed. It was then that she noticed a figure in her domain.

The girl’s anger mounted with each pounding step. “Who are you, and why are you here?” she bellowed as she neared the encroacher.

“It is me, Poppy,” replied a willowy female with striking green eyes–a contrast to her snow-white complexion.

“Well, Poppy. You are a scrawny retard. Go back to where you belong,” she fumed before proceeding.

Poppy stayed, for she was where she belonged. And though each remark was cutting, she stood proud and tall.

On the return trip, the domineering girl brought with her a flurry of hateful words. She was stalling, for the thought of home caused her to wince. It wasn’t until her store of insults was completely exhausted that she stopped spewing.

Poppy stayed, for she was where she belonged. And though each remark was cutting, she stood proud and tall.

With each passing, the girl’s jibes grew in number and bluntness, and Poppy’s lacerations accumulated. Though things continued like this for quite some time, there came a day when Poppy could no longer stand proud and tall.

The girl didn’t hold back. For every bruise on her body, she bruised Poppy. Seething with rage, she fired slurs until she was foaming at the mouth like a rabid beast. “I hate you! You should kill yourself!” she asserted.

Poppy lay on the ground, her slashed limbs oozing. When the girl looked down at Poppy’s lifeless body, a dam deep inside her failed, and the rivers of anguish surged forth, flooding the desert of her soul. The girl did not see a tree laying on the forest floor, but herself.

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SaphiraBrightscalesThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 15, 2013 at 11:23 am
Lexy, (hey may I call you that? ) firstly I must say that I love the fact that you explain every article in the exact way that it should be explained in that writer's comments/inpiration box. So Thank You for that because it helps in solidifying thoughts formed when one has read the article.  Anyway, this covered quite a lot and for that I applaud you. I shall suggest this article to a friend of mine who like me is also MUCH against deforestation and is a huge environmentalist alway... (more »)
boundlesswildflower said...
Oct. 19, 2013 at 8:40 pm
OMG!!! wow such and intersting thoughtful, riviting twist to how we normally look at people who cut. This is really extraordinary piece.  The entire piece was completely metaphoric and symbolic hinting slightly at what Poppy really was. I loved it and think it deserves to be on the magazine - honestly. Will recomend to everyone. Needs many rates of 5!!!
411Ellie This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Oct. 31, 2013 at 9:56 pm
Thank you so much!! Your comments mean the world to me. :)
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