Mr. Freeman sighs. "No imagination. What are you thirteen? Fourteen? You've already let them beat your creativity out of you!
I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?
It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts except the small smiles and blushes that flash across the room like tiny sparrows.
I stuff my mouth with old fabric and scream until there are no sounds left under my skin.
Melancholy held me hostage, and the bees built a hive of sadness in my soul.