To Be Believed

 She had to survey her surroundings a few times before her brain would begin to register the input from her eyes. There were people around her, a lot of them, who knew her. They were all standing by her, ready to stand up if she needed it. Ready to defend if it was necessary. Ready to risk themselves, or so her scarred mind believed. Because back then, anyone who did try to help her paid a price, as did she. But, that was then, and this was now. She knew that. Or, the small part of her still in touch with logic did. 

Just, ever since then, her connection with that part of herself still in touch with logic had weakened. And sometimes, it was blurry. Sometimes, now felt distant and far away, and then felt way too close for comfort. But right now, she was in it enough to see all of the people around her, even if her scarred mind was reluctant to believe it. She was in it enough to see all of the people, willing to stand by and stand up. Not just willing, but actually doing it. 

She couldn’t help the tiny hint of a smile on her lips, owing to the small part of herself still in touch with logic, at the now army’s worth of strangers standing behind and alongside her. Because that small part of herself knew that even though then still affected her now, it was back then, not now. Even if, because of then, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that this, now, was her reality. Now is what she’d dreamt of. Now is what she’d never thought would happen. To have people around her. To know she wasn’t alone. And to be believed. That was the most impactful. That all of these people stood by her now, because they believed her story, and they believed that what she had subjected to was wrong. To be believed was the first, most important step of all. And to think it had all started with one single stranger. 

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This story is part of the Stranger series, which started here. You can find the full collection, together in one place, on Wattpad here.

This story was partially inspired by two incredibly powerful TV spots. A scene on Season 4, episode 7 of Sex Education around the importance of accessibility (more here) and season 14, episode 9 of Grey’s Anatomy, which shows the aftermath of trauma and the impact of others’ support.  

For those who have experienced trauma, know that you are not alone. And for those who know someone who has experienced trauma, remember that simply being believed can be indescribably powerful. 

Waiting In The Sun

They are all here in the sun, waiting for me. Just like I’ve always been told they would be. It’s far better than I could have imagined. Everyone important is here. Everyone who’s ever been important. Everyone. All together. Here in the sun. 

The park is weirdly empty aside from us, but I’m not going to complain. The grass is green, the sky is blue and clear, and the sun is shining bright above us. Oh, and there’s a nice breeze too, so no one gets too warm. 

I can’t help smiling, I’m so happy. When my loved ones notice me, they smile back at me. The ones closest open their arms. Feeling like a giddy child lost in the sheer joy of play, I run toward them. I run faster than I can remember ever running. As if the wind is pushing me along, and my path is downhill, which means my good friend gravity lends a helping hand. It’s like I’m running the last few metres of a race. It’s a wonder I don’t bowl anyone over. 

I emerge from the warm huddle-hug (because everyone had to get in on the action) and look around at all my loved ones. Really everyone is here- aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, siblings, parents, friends. All of the people who make me feel safest in the whole entire world. All here. 

I feel tears touch the tip of my eyelashes when I open my eyes, finding I’m not in the park with everyone anymore. Maybe I never was. But I like to think I was there, in a way. I smile as more tears fall, knowing not everyone at the park is here with me in this waking reality. But I know now they’re all there, in the sun at the park. They’ll be there waiting for me. 

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For all those who have lost a loved one. They’ll be waiting in the sun for you. 

The Flamingo With Muscles

 Like all flamingos, like all birds, Fred had muscles. Only, he didn’t know it. Instead, he doubted it. How could he not, being the weakest of the flock? Strong birds had muscle. Weak birds? Not so much… 

Fred looked around at the other flamingos, stretching and flapping their wings. But it was when they shot up into the air their muscles were really on display, as they twirled and dipped and did tricks. Fred wanted to wrap his wings around himself so h’d be hidden from view. They were all warming up for the first stage in a competition that would eventually lead to representing the flamingos at a much bigger competition with all the birds. Everyone was expected to try out to represent their kind, but Fred didn’t see the point. He had no chance next to the other flamingos. The other flamingos didn’t have wobbly legs like heated, the other flamingos didn’t shake when someone simply looked at them. No, the other flamingos, unlike Fred, knew how to stand tall and proud. 

Not all flamingos were good at sport, Fred could admit that. But all flamingos, everyone, was good at something. So that meant Fred should have been good at something, right? If there was something that Fred was good at, he didn’t know what it was. 

If Fred had been given a choice, he wouldn’t have bothered wasting his time trying out alongside the other flamingos to represent their flock at the next round. But, he didn’t have that choice, and so, he gave it his best shot. He lined up with the other flamingos and spread his wings wide. Fred paraded along with the rest of them, as if his wings were part of an outfit he’d been asked to model at a runway show. Then, he took his turn to shoot up into the air and show off what he could do in the sky. Not much, was the answer. Fred basically flew around in different ways. He wished he’d been allowed a partner to do this with. Maybe then, they could have synchronised and together made beautiful shapes among the clouds. But, just like almost always, Fred was on his own.

“You do have muscle, Fred,” his mother told him when the tryouts had finished. “ it’s just not the kind of muscle that everyone would expect. It’s similar to the muscle birds have, because it’s not muscle that everyone sees.” 

“Oh yeah?” Fred asked, curious now. “ what kind of muscle is that?” 

Fred’s mother smiled. “It’s the kind of muscle let you do all of what you just did, I’m not talking about physical muscle that allows us to fly or spread our wings and dance the way that we do. The kind of muscle I’m talking about, the kind of muscle you have,  is the kind that helped you do all of that, even when there weren’t that many backing you. Even when you didn’t feel like you had a chance.” She patted his shoulder. “ The kind of muscle you have, Fred, is bravery and courage. It’s not the kind of muscle that everyone has, but it’s important. Because, with your kind of muscle, you can feel the fear and do it anyway.” 

Sympathy for the Devil

 I’m known around town as ‘The Devil’. Not because I’m the daughter of Satan (although I easily could be), but because most of the time, it’s my evil side that shows through and takes the lead. But, what if I told you it’s for good reason? Or, at least, it started out that way…. 

Bad is bad, I hear you scream at me, there is no excuse. I know. But, I had a reason. I’m not trying to excuse what I’ve done. Just provide an explanation of sorts, I suppose. So will you hear me out? Will you take a moment to have a little sympathy for the devil? I won’t beg- that would ruin my rep. But I’ll go on. Stay, if you give even half an F. 

It all started with my little sister. She was my favourite person in the entire universe. My best friend, my playmate, my partner in (innocent) crime- not real crime, mind you. Darkness hadn’t touched me yet, after all. That came later. But, you get what I mean. My little sister  was my everything,  and I would have done anything for her. That’s how I got into this mess in the first place, if you can call it a mess. I don’t know that it is though, not to me. It’s just a different way.  Maybe not the way others agree with, but it’s the way that works for me. As they say, nice guys finish last, right? So, that’s how I found myself making something of a deal with the devil. Or maybe the devil’s delegate? I’m not sure quite how you describe them. But I was little at the time, so cut me a little slack, alright?

When my little sister was only 4 , and I was 10, she was killed. We were playing on the edge of the road, at the end of our driveway when a car swerved out of control and hit my little sister, knocking her dead. That was when I met the reaper. I begged, because I beg in those days, and I was little. The reaper said it didn’t matter, she was gone. But, he could offer me a deal. He could accompany my sister as she passed from this life,  and make sure she got safely to heaven, where she belonged. The reaper told me that while that’s where my sister was supposed to go, there is always a chance for a soul to become lost, or snatched away to the wrong place. That was the last thing I wanted for my little sister. But, with the reaper, well I had to do was shake his hand. Looking back at it now, with the gift of hindsight, it seems obvious that it was too good to be true. That there was something the reaper wasn’t telling me. And I’ve been paying the price ever since. I can only hope my little sister got to where she was supposed to be, in heaven, because I never heard from the reaper ever again after that day.

But since that day, I’ve had devilish whispers in my mind.  They were small at first, quiet, so I had to really concentrate to hear them. But, they were enticing and alluring.  Not to mention darkness had entered my little world when my sister was lost to us, so I was more susceptible to their suggestions. And I seemed to be rewarded. The more I listened to the voices, the stronger they became. They were like friends, they are friends. The only friends I have now, really. Listening to them has led me to find my own power. Because of them, I am strong, tough and in control. No one would even dare take advantage of me now. Not like the reaper did when I was young. The reaper. That’s who I’m gunning for, really.  But I know that I won’t see him again until it’s my time. And when it is, he will be the one who pays. Until then, I’m the devil about town, and I’m ok with that.  

Before the Sun

 It is so freezing, I’m almost certain I’ll be encased in ice within minutes, maybe mere seconds. Being up and at ‘Em before the sun will have that effect, I suppose. But, I also know it’ll be worth it when I get to where I’m going. Besides, what other excuse do I have to get out of the house? Exercise is one of the few legitimate reasons folks are allowed to venture beyond their four walls, and this is definitely exercise. 

When I get to the top of this big hill/ mountain/ cliff structure I’ve been climbing, I take a moment to lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees and panting for air. Then, I straighten up and set about spinning the guitar I’ve carried on my back around so I can play it. I do it slowly, because bringing my instrument with me was a risk. Less so doing at this time of the morning, before the sun. At this time, there’s not a soul around. Not physically close by, anyway. 

There are others out there, though. They’re the reason I’m here with my guitar, out before the sun. We made a promise that they’d be doing the same as me, just in a different place. I close my eyes, imagining mirrored scenes of my two best friends in the world. Almost like our very own music video. My breath hitches in my throat, imagining that possibility. Maybe one day, it’ll be a reality. But for now, we have this. This view, so perfect it’s like someone painted it into existence. This breeze, almost too cold, but starting to grow warmer. I start to run my fingers over the strings and close my eyes so I can lose myself completely in the sound. 

I keep playing for long enough to lose all track of time. It’s not until I sense the darkness start to dissipate that I open my eyes, the strumming automatic. Just enough to see the sun start to poke through just above the ocean beyond. I keep playing as it slowly rises to begin a new day. It’s warmth envelops me, along with the knowledge my friends are experiencing if not the same, then very similar. Even if our specific sunrises are different, the three of us are all under the same sky, standing beneath the same sun. This is why we get up before the sun. For this moment when we are together in different places, our souls connected, tuned into the same song.