Phantasms of Trepidation

I tried to recall what it was like. Before my mind became equivocal with doubt. Before I was aware that my bones shatter as easily as glass.

My deft hands were never designed to put up a fight. There’s not much disparity between me and a frightened rabbit, we’re both paralyzed with fear. For me, the headlamps never fade. Gut wrenching waves of fear still crash inside me. Yesterday I caught my reflection in the TV long after the white noise of reality shows had dissipated. I tried telling myself even the wildest flowers grow tired before I hid every mirror.

There was no sanctum from the memories that stubbornly reverberated in infinite repetition. The ghosts that linger in the moonlight, force me to recount the good times, the reasons I stayed. Each and every time you versed the same old lines, “I’d never lay a finger…….”

Your fist proved more powerful than your words. I told myself my new life would start with the end of you. I’m just awaiting my resurrection. My chains have been broken, yet I remain hollow attempting to collect the scattered pieces of myself that once existed. I couldn’t remember the adjectives I once defined myself with, before his tyranny. The oppression was foreboding  and duped me into freezing every inch of me that didn’t appease him.

I became a stranger in my own skin, defined by servitude. I bowed to every hedonistic whim. He lived to see me suffer. I granted him the power he never had. The life he lived was one powered by intimidation and greed. My brain accepted my feelings as facts. I had no worth and life without him would be loathsome. These words became my mantra. I was a wall flower, just as I was his perfect chew toy.

Written by: Amelia Vandergast, a freelance creative writer living in Blackpool, UK. Amelia has been previously been published in Wildheart and Hell on Heelz magazine,

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