text: The ground was white. It had snowed heavily that morning and the weather was still cold, preventing the snow from melting. She walked through it. Her boots almost ran up to her knees and the snow was high as her calves. On a normal day she’d have Walked through this easily. It wasn’t her first time or the second or the third. It was her way back from school and she’s been through it a hundred times. Today, however, it was heavier. The backpack on her shoulder, the air and every step she took seemed to pull her deeper into the snow. *Am I dreaming now? She thought. Do I even deserve to live? Should I really go home?* &#x200B; She could make out the house in the distance. It wasn’t what you’d call big, but It was what she’d call perfect. It was a wooden house, a cute door which always had a weird ornament hanging on it - it was something her mom makes while she had nothing else to do - with cottage windows that looked out the front and circular windows on the top where the attic should be. She was now close enough to see the chimney blew smoke. *No. I’m not hungry. She thought again. I haven’t eaten since last night yet I’m not hungry at all.* As she got closer to the house, she walked slower. *Or did it feel slow? Was time slowing down? Do I dare step into the house like this?* &#x200B; She reached the front door and eyed the ornament. It was shaped like a bird, but it wasn’t a bird. It looked like the moment a bird takes flight but instead wings were shards like broken pieces of glass. The ornament was silver. The broken edges faded to black. She saw the positive side and thought it meant freedom but her mother had a different superstition. *Weird. I’ve grown so used to this by now, but why does it make me feel like it’s meant for me. I don’t think it means freedom anymore.. it’s the illusion of being free. But we are just as broken as everything else. Why am I so negative? Is this it for me? Am I over? Am I done?* &#x200B; Knock. Knock. She never rang the doorbell. She always preferred the sound of knuckles against wood. “Hey, my baby girl” said her mom as she opened the door. She was in her late thirties. She was strikingly pretty with her angular jawlines, eyebrows that were so perfect you’d think she’d thread them every day. Her lips were rose without the lipstick and as fine and slender as her fingers. Her eyes, as grey as the winter storm itself. Everyone said that she is a copy of her mother. She even agreed. *But beauty is a curse. I know that now.* &#x200B; “Come on sweetie, I made lunch and take off that thick jacket” *Do I have to?* She eyed the room. Same as always. Fire burning in the fireplace, the couches on either side and The soft fur carpet at the center. *Cozy. But not today.* “Come sit down. Look what I made for you” She shifted her eyes to the dinner table. It could accommodate 6 people, the spot where most of her happy memories took place. But today, it felt cold and unwelcoming. Spaghetti with hot sauce and meatballs. *My absolute favorite.* “I’m not hungry, mom.” Shouldn’t have said that. Her mom’s face fell. *It is my favorite dish. Why does it look so unappetizing? I’m sorry mom. I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to be sad. I don’t want you to worry. I’m just so so sorry.* “But... Baby... I made it just the way you love it... For you” *I don’t deserve your love, mom. Please. Just hate me. Please. Just don’t care. Please. Forgive me.* “I know” she said “but.. umm.. I had a heavy lunch from school.. and I .. I can’t digest more.” *Lies. Does it show on my face?* “Are you okay, sweetie?” “Yes, mom, just really tired. I need rest” “Oh.. sure baby.. you go get some sleep. I’ll save this for dinner” *I don’t think I’ll make it for dinner.* “Thanks ,mom” She made her way past the hallway, brooding about what happened that day. Her eyes were filled with tears. She looked back, her mom was in the kitchen, out of sight. She made her way to the stairs. Her room was on the next floor. “MOM!” She called out. “Yes, darling?” *I’m sorry, mom. I didn’t want to hurt you. I never did.* “I love you, mom” “Oh baby.” Her mom answered, still out of sight. “ I love you too!” She felt so heavy as she climbed the stairs. *Would it break now? Under this pressure? Would that finally be it?* Her room was the first one on the left. She opened it and threw her bag down. It was covered in mud and snow. *Thank God mom didn’t notice.* She looked up and saw that the snow had started to fall. She slowly closed the door. Bolted it shut. She must’ve stood there, in that position for 10 minutes straight. As the first streak of tear rolled out on to her cheek, she grabbed the pillow on her bed and collapsed into the floor and cried her lungs out. &#x200B; *Broken.* She knew what it felt like to be broken. To be stripped of peace. *I’m sorryyyyyy. She cried into the pillow. Forgive me mom. Forgive me dad. I would never hurt any of you. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t help myself. I can't. I just can’t.* &#x200B; She got up after what must’ve been an hour. Her legs were sore. Her eyes bloodshot. She walked to her cupboard like a zombie. Dead but alive.she stood in front of the mirror and opened the drawer and peered inside. What she searched for was still there. She never knew she’d have another use for this object. Slowly, she took off her shirt. As she saw her reflection, fresh tears streamed on to her cheeks. Bruises.. purple and almost black.. they weren’t there this morning. Bruises so large and strong.. on her back, around to her stomach up to her chest. She looked at the skirt she wore. *Was i asking for it?* She dropped her skirt and cried again. It hurt so bad. The bruises around her thighs were least of her concern as she eyed the dried up blood that had streamed down her underwear to the inner thighs. She grabbed the rope from the drawer. And walked to the center of the room. She looked up and then out of the window into the snow. “I’m so sorry, mom.