Essay A Note On The Picture Of My Tongue

1897 Words Jan 6th, 2016 8 Pages
I remember that day; as the color drains from my face, and I feel a mild unease creeping up my throat. The words at the tip of my tongue, shuffling inside my mouth. The image crumpled up not as vivid as before, just the ambiance of black and white, but I could still feel my surroundings. Not the way you do when you reach out to touch the object in front you of you with your bare hands, no, I can feel the surroundings like the walls closing in on me. Laying in distress as its ceaseless lesson on this broken record stuck on the same note. Only because I recognized it, it was familiar; a place you go by everyday not knowing it would be the destination to a catastrophe you would only see in movies. No action, no cuts, no editing this part out of a life written in permanent ink. All I could do is to think of the good that has come from it, it’s the good I hold on to, like a locket clinging onto my neck by a thread, a locket I can glance at from time to time. The voices in my head are all at a dull pitch, the screaming it all seem to echoes now, bouncing inside the walls in my head. The sound of broken glass being stepped on with every loud crepitate, cracking from under those uniform boots. It all just crawls my blood. I was waiting for the director to yell “Cut,” but I only realized poised between the hysteria and being bruised, it hit me that the role I was given, my journey, had only begun that night at 12:30…
It was just another day where my parents were up before the…

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