theola mckenzie : d8 : fin
Apr 4, 2017 15:49:00 GMT -5
Post by goat on Apr 4, 2017 15:49:00 GMT -5
theola mckenzie
16
she/her
district 8
16
she/her
district 8
Before meals, we have to pray. Mother tells us to close our eyes, like she does every time, but I keep mine open today. I glance around the table at my family, all female, heads bowed, whispering their prayers under their breaths. We look similar, too similar, like we were made and cloned in a laboratory. I have five sisters, and we are all short. My older sisters are paler than I am, which almost seems impossible, because they spend most of their time working indoors. Our hair is nearly as white as our skin, with the slightest tinge of yellow when the light shines just right. Mother does not like when I cut my hair myself. She says I cut it too short, but I like it when it just touches my shoulders. She asks me why I am so intent on altering what Ripred blessed me with. I always have to bite my tongue.
The eye colors among my sisters range from blue to grey. Mine lay right in the middle of the scale, and they are framed by thick eyebrows that are much darker than my hair. My nose is wide, and it looks more flat than it actually is. A natural optical illusion, some might say. Mother makes us dress conservative, arms and legs covered at all times, even though it gets awfully hot during some months. The itchy fabric leaves scratches and bumps on the areas where I sweat most, like armpits and elbows. She says we must dress this way because our bodies are not for anybody but Ripred. I'd like to think my body belongs to myself, and myself only. I do not enjoy dressing this way. We are forbidden from wearing any jewelry or makeup, but sometimes, I put on bright red lipstick when I leave the house. It is an expensive luxury, but it makes me feel something. Confidence? Power? I cannot name it yet.
I was raised to be a docile, polite girl, and that is who I am. I do not speak out when I am uncomfortable. I do not speak out when I am upset. It is not worth it to bother others with my worldly troubles. When I was thirteen, I went through a phase where I thought I could loudly rebel. Unbeknownst to me, my sisters had gone through the same thing, and by her sixth teenage daughter, my mother knew what to do. One strike to the face and I never spoke out again. I do not wish to challenge anything and risk a punishment.
I do not tell others how I feel. I am not the type of girl who has many friends, because my family has a reputation that people my age do not like. The friends I do have are kind and understanding, but for some reason, I cannot bring myself to trust them. I am afraid I will say one wrong thing, and they will leave. All of the things I feel, the good and the bad, are stuffed deep, deep down into my chest, where I hope they will never resurface.
I have internalized things my entire life. I hope they will never resurface, but the logical part of me knows they will. I do not think it will be pretty. My entire life, I have been told who to be, and what to think. I wish to be free. I wish to be my own person. The logical part of me knows it is an unrealistic wish. My eldest sister is twenty-four, and she is still under my mother's rule. I do not know how she keeps them here, and I do not wish to find out.
My mother has been religious her entire life. Her parents were religious. It only makes sense that she would be, too. I was raised from an early age knowing exactly who I was supposed to be- a good, quiet girl. Do not be too loud. Do not push the status quo. Be soft, because men like soft women, and it is Ripred's wish for us to procreate. Pray every day, multiple times a day. When you are a child, you do not question things like that. Your parents are adults and adults know best. Now that I am older, I know that is not always true. My father did not know best, when he had six children with my mother and then left her for an eighteen year old. I was barely a month old.
I do not care about my father. I did not know him, so I cannot miss him. My childhood was normal, except for the fear installed in me by my mother. She made the consequences of disobeying her, or Ripred, very clear. Do you hear what I am saying to you? Do you want to go to hell and suffer for all eternity? Your sisters and I will be in heaven, without you. So I never fought it. I did not enjoy living the life she had created for me, but I knew what would happen if I fought it. My mild rebellious streak at thirteen only cemented that fact. If I do what I am supposed to, I will not suffer.
Well, I will not suffer under the hands of my mother. But I will suffer in other ways, internally, emotionally. Day by day, I think I am becoming braver with small steps. The red lipstick was the first. Kissing a friend my mother does not like was the second. Kissing her again was the third. I do not know how it will continue, but for once, I do not think I am afraid. I know the consequences of rebellion. Trust me, I do. But I cannot be afraid for the rest of my life. If Ripred is really up there, I think He is gentle, and forgiving, and would not condemn me for wearing red lipstick.
The eye colors among my sisters range from blue to grey. Mine lay right in the middle of the scale, and they are framed by thick eyebrows that are much darker than my hair. My nose is wide, and it looks more flat than it actually is. A natural optical illusion, some might say. Mother makes us dress conservative, arms and legs covered at all times, even though it gets awfully hot during some months. The itchy fabric leaves scratches and bumps on the areas where I sweat most, like armpits and elbows. She says we must dress this way because our bodies are not for anybody but Ripred. I'd like to think my body belongs to myself, and myself only. I do not enjoy dressing this way. We are forbidden from wearing any jewelry or makeup, but sometimes, I put on bright red lipstick when I leave the house. It is an expensive luxury, but it makes me feel something. Confidence? Power? I cannot name it yet.
I was raised to be a docile, polite girl, and that is who I am. I do not speak out when I am uncomfortable. I do not speak out when I am upset. It is not worth it to bother others with my worldly troubles. When I was thirteen, I went through a phase where I thought I could loudly rebel. Unbeknownst to me, my sisters had gone through the same thing, and by her sixth teenage daughter, my mother knew what to do. One strike to the face and I never spoke out again. I do not wish to challenge anything and risk a punishment.
I do not tell others how I feel. I am not the type of girl who has many friends, because my family has a reputation that people my age do not like. The friends I do have are kind and understanding, but for some reason, I cannot bring myself to trust them. I am afraid I will say one wrong thing, and they will leave. All of the things I feel, the good and the bad, are stuffed deep, deep down into my chest, where I hope they will never resurface.
I have internalized things my entire life. I hope they will never resurface, but the logical part of me knows they will. I do not think it will be pretty. My entire life, I have been told who to be, and what to think. I wish to be free. I wish to be my own person. The logical part of me knows it is an unrealistic wish. My eldest sister is twenty-four, and she is still under my mother's rule. I do not know how she keeps them here, and I do not wish to find out.
My mother has been religious her entire life. Her parents were religious. It only makes sense that she would be, too. I was raised from an early age knowing exactly who I was supposed to be- a good, quiet girl. Do not be too loud. Do not push the status quo. Be soft, because men like soft women, and it is Ripred's wish for us to procreate. Pray every day, multiple times a day. When you are a child, you do not question things like that. Your parents are adults and adults know best. Now that I am older, I know that is not always true. My father did not know best, when he had six children with my mother and then left her for an eighteen year old. I was barely a month old.
I do not care about my father. I did not know him, so I cannot miss him. My childhood was normal, except for the fear installed in me by my mother. She made the consequences of disobeying her, or Ripred, very clear. Do you hear what I am saying to you? Do you want to go to hell and suffer for all eternity? Your sisters and I will be in heaven, without you. So I never fought it. I did not enjoy living the life she had created for me, but I knew what would happen if I fought it. My mild rebellious streak at thirteen only cemented that fact. If I do what I am supposed to, I will not suffer.
Well, I will not suffer under the hands of my mother. But I will suffer in other ways, internally, emotionally. Day by day, I think I am becoming braver with small steps. The red lipstick was the first. Kissing a friend my mother does not like was the second. Kissing her again was the third. I do not know how it will continue, but for once, I do not think I am afraid. I know the consequences of rebellion. Trust me, I do. But I cannot be afraid for the rest of my life. If Ripred is really up there, I think He is gentle, and forgiving, and would not condemn me for wearing red lipstick.
