He screams; she screams. Glass shatters and hearts crack. You scream stop, but they don’t hear you. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, they all pass with the same scene being retaken, as if the last wasn’t exceptional or good enough. You scream stop; they still don’t hear you. You tell someone, and that someone tries to help. They both deny over and over, blaming you for being horrible or desperate for attention. That someone believes them, and frowns upon you. You reach out, trying to tell them, “No it’s not true.” Or, “They’re lying.” But no words come out of your mouth. You hesitate. Is it right or wrong to speak out? You see it on TV, and you see others do it, but you’re conflicted with mixed feelings. One side of you screams “Yes do it” while the other pleas, “No, Don’t do it” It’s a year now, and that horrible scene you wished away, returns even more persistent and intense. The shouting ensues, and the delicate reality you thought you had, is shattered and turns into a fantasy; better yet, a nightmare. Your heart pounds, as do the neighbors’ fists on the wall, trying to silence what they don’t understand. Eden is under siege, as a hand is raised. You scream stop, and they hear you as they study you, finally acknowledging your existence in the room. Then you notice, as tears stream down your face. . . That was the first time you spoke.