Fast asleep and I am paralyzed 

But free to move 

As my body drifts into a reality

My rational mind is bound to my perception.

But as the gem within my mind opens

I see another world 

Much like this one

Where the colors are so vivid 

It is incomprehensible 

As it still remains indescribable.

A furry creature 

With massive button eyes,

A gremlin’s grin,

And a fluffy tail 

Runs in circles around where my physical body lies. 

I begin to hyperventilate 

Either from excitement 

Or terror

I can not distinguish

But nonetheless 

my heart is beating throughout my mind

So hard I’m afraid it’s going to seize

But it doesn’t.

Slick and wet black bodied centipedes 

Peel themselves from the walls 

And begin to crawl towards my body

Still asleep in paralysis. 

As I become alarmingly aware

My consciousness shifts.

My mind takes notice of my disposition 

And by mere thought 

My astral arms appear before my body

They are filled with the stars in the universe

As my skin is comprised of light.

They reach up to grab the little furry one

Who’s waddling around and around in circles 

Above my legs

As his tail floats as though he’s underwater.

He’s just out of reach, 

And he knows it

His eyes, locked onto mine,

Never break from their glare.

As the centipedes close in around my neck 

They begin to maniacally giggle in my ears 

As I wake.

the tattered stripes

limply hang from the pole

a billowing breeze rushes past

tangling it's stars and it's stripes

till it makes one big knot

it isn't till a gentle ephemeral breeze

gently knocks through

undoing the damage little by little

the rising sun illuminates the edge of pole

a bright new dawn that shines upon us

a new chance to amend the tatters

so the stripes can come together once more

united not apart

adjective.

extremely delicate and light in a way that seems not to be of this world.

.

.

.

“A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence.” – Leopold Stokowski

the faint howl of the rushing waves on the shore, the wet grains of sand sticky on her feet. the strung of guitar filling the silence of the empty beach, warm voice sliding in the wind, a whisper of a slow song on her skin. she shivers. closes her eyes and focuses on his voice, his song. the notes stretch wide, pulling tight high then drops, slipping into low beat that falls in beat with her heart. it’s feels like hearing a dance of two mermaids in a lake. circling each other, moving forward in the night till their breaths are tangling, moonlight caught in the scales of their tails violet eyes intense then, twirling away dipping into the water in splash only to come back. and it’s amazing, stunning, breathtaking.

she hangs in each note, the deep, rich electric purple colour, intimate tone of the song free-flowing in precise and intricate strings of notes. and she believes in every word, every string that tugs her heart making it twist and churn. slides her hand forward, closes the distance between them, and their hands fold over each other like a pair of wings settling after flight. and she tightens her finger around his, inhales the salty air blinks her eyes, listens and loses herself in vibrant dreams.

i was chartreuse at first,

maybe a hint of lime over pink flesh.

upon reflection now,

i'm a dead emerald.

no sparkle, but the deepest green,

darkened by 22 years of

grief

trauma

pain.

my feet and legs went first

upon discovering

that some people run for fun,

not because they have to.

my hips because

some people have never been

caressed by someone

who had no right to do so.

my stomach because

thin people get taken seriously

by doctors, by modeling agencies.

my arms are covered

in the color

of remembering that

some people never slashed them open

to feel something more than

numb.

my throat envies those

who never had to scream

or to swallow the lump in their throats

no matter how much it choked them.

my ears long to unhear

the wailing of my mother,

the recount of the rapes from

countless friends,

the broken sobbing

of my only love,

after the absence of the gun

that my hands snatched away.

that time, it was close.

even my brain

turns green with

more-than-jealousy

because they

never had to take

three pills a day

just to function.

i would kill to be

blissfully ignorant,

to be shallow,

to be vain,

to be immature,

to not constantly worry.

what i wouldn't give

to be pink again.

Today’s subject has to do with America being on a merit-based system.

And when you’re done laughing....wipe the spit off your computer screen and continue reading.

Anyone who says, follow your dreams! Work hard! The More You Know! clearly doesn’t have an understanding how the real world works. Here, in America, “it’s not WHAT you know, it’s WHO you know” that makes all the difference.

We need to have more thorough discussions on this topic. America wouldn’t be the cesspool of the world today if it was strictly merit-based.

Around the time my niece was entering freshman year of college, I provided her with some rather atypical advice. I advised her to make as many connections as she could throughout her academic career. The advice was based on the adage “it’s not what you know - it’s who you know.”

I can’t help but sneer at the people who routinely resort to the typical, antiquated cliches such as “keep following your dreams,”″ work hard and don’t give up,” and “all your hard work will pay off in the end.” To those people, I respond, without a shadow of a doubt, to go fuck themselves. That’s not how the real world works, and somewhere deep inside, people know this to be true. They just don’t want to be known as the “dream killah” the rest of their days.

Cynical? Nope. I challenge anyone if the idea of “working hard” holds true in the entertainment industry. How about politics?

I have been a victim of this discriminatory aphorism all my life. A few years ago, I maintained a blog that chronicled unsettling interview and hiring methods deployed by recruiters, human resources, and online job boards while I was looking for employment. I went through a phase of publicly shaming every bit of ambiguous tactic just to prove the job search wasn’t as easy as some people believed. In this dynamic, the more you know is nothing but a nostalgic, star-and-rainbow visioned catchphrase. Who you know holds more weight in the search for employment.

In 2009, I applied for a position with a major newspaper. In my cover letter, I referred to someone who happens to be a former employee with that paper, and worked under his guidance with another publisher. I got a call back for an interview the following day.

I did not get hired, but I’m still in awe that an urban, mainstream news paper called me as quick as they did to schedule an interview, all because I mentioned a (winning) name. It further proliferated my theory that all you needed was ONE name to elevate to the next level.

My last employer was with a government agency. Again, all I did was drop a name. I did not invent the moon nor did I find breakthrough treatment for cancer. All I had was a name, and I was hired immediately.

If you would like some more proof, look no further than Hollywood privilege. You know, those assholes whose kids are so dumb, they willingly bribe top colleges millions of dollars to admit them, despite grades and test scores.

In an episode from The Daily Show with Trevor Noah,* Trevor Noah admittedly professed ultimate due credit to the man (Jon Stewart) who gave Trevor the opportunity of hosting one of America’s most beloved news shows. You don’t often hear gratuitous sentiments in Hollywood unless it involves receiving an award, and even then, it’s insanely superficial. The entertainment industry can be accurately credited as the inventors of “What v Who You Know” since that industry notoriously hires based on word of mouth and favors. How many stories have you heard about actors not even having to go through the audition process (not counting Oscar winners), but that they were merely “recommended” by the casting director? The entertainment industry, be it acting, music, sports, even publishing, all are realms that work exclusively on a word-of-mouth basis.

America should be merit-based, but it’s not. There’s no room for profit in anything remotely merit-based. Imagine the abominable breakthroughs that would genuinely heal, prosper, and nurture to blossom into a better America. This country would surely reign supreme when it comes to economic success, social justices, and better healthcare. If America were strictly merit-based, we wouldn’t have to endure things like:

Rich parents who bribe colleges to admit their dumbass kids.

Those same kids get jobs via connections and they’re making undeserved seven-figure salaries

Big Pharma being in the business of profit instead of breakthroughs

Big Tech in the business of exploiting user data for big profits

Hollywood, ALL OF IT

The media,  ALL OF IT

We’d have no use for PR firms aka Bullshit Makers - because the individual’s craft isn’t goo d enough to make a tremendous impact on its own.

Canned and robotic PR-related “apologies”

The American shit list goes on. Imagine the glorious advancements in America had it not been for these assholes and its factories from which they originated.

I have adopted numerous projects just to pass the time, but deep inside I desire some sort of notoriety just to justify all the pain I’ve had to endure to make these projects come to fruition. I have already accepted that without being in the right place at the right time, I may never come face to face with relevant connections, and my personal goals may never come to light. Contrary, I saved myself from so much stress dealing with humans and their inane, superficial bullshit. It’s totally a win-win.

My niece still sees life with fresh, auspicious eyes. In a few months, she will be graduating with a bachelor’s degree and begin the “adulting” process for job stability and independence.  I told her that making relevant connections would increase her chance of getting a good paying gig. Contrary, I also told her that people will go only as far as the confines of their innermost circle. If she’s not in anyone’s circle, always maintain low expectations and don’t get those hopes up. The problem with being human is that there is no escaping disappointments, rejections, and depression. When it comes to personal expectations, I’d rather for her to be pleasantly surprised than be in a sudden state of shock. In other words: always expect the unexpected.

I could have used this wisdom when the newspaper decided I was “over-qualified.” When I didn’t get hired, I was shocked, as if I ran into a wall. The interview was culminating in every aspect, and even spoke to four different people. Their rationalization just wasn’t enough to soften the blow. I don’t want my niece to suffer like that. I realize that I cannot protect her from every betrayal and hurt feelings, but at least provide some levity on whatever inequitable situation she will undoubtedly encounter.

Do humanity a favor and ditch the superficial “follow your dreams” advice. After all, that’s not how real life works. Please stop the lying to younger generations.

________________________________

Reposted from my blog, brokenpimphands.com

Copyright, JudieLynne 2019

*TDS Trevor Noah on youtube, https://youtu.be/SfYoQK6e6qw

#humanity #society #opinion #millenials #genx

Filled with dread, I tremble at the coming of the dark. With the settling of the night, I listen, waiting for the sound that will break its silence. My eyes stare into the shadows, waiting. Do I dare to hope he may not come? And then I hear him, his footsteps silent to all but me. My body tenses, like a fist. I am never prepared for what I know will happen.

He slithers into my room, and the touch of his hand on my shoulder fills me with disgust.

”Wake up,” he whispers. “I want you.”

At first, I feign sleep, but he is insistent. “No,” I whine. “I don’t want to.”

”Come on Theresa, just one more time; I promise.”

I do not trust his pledge, for he has sworn it many times. Sighing, I get out of bed to follow him; fear makes my stomach churn with nausea. We go to the living room, far from the rest of the family. Ironically, we sit on the loveseat. I have come to abhor its rusty color and rough fabric. It represents a never ending nightmare.

He demands a kiss, pressing his mouth against mine so hard it hurts. As his hands begin to roam forbidden places, reality falls away and I hide within the corridors of my mind. I feel nothing; I will not remember. I did not learn to dissociate; it was a gift to me from the universe. I don’t call on it to deliver me from the trauma; it simply pulls me into its safety.

Eventually, he leads me back to my bed, and he grins. There is evil in his eyes as he sniffs my stolen innocence on his fingers. Hatred stirs within the very core of my being. It is not for him, but for me - I believe that I am being punished for merely existing. I cannot tell; the shame and the guilt is too heavy. I have been ignpored by a society that is run by men. Therefore, in this agonizing silence, I blame myself; my brother becomes my enemy. He is the one who is successful, while I remain, even now, locked in the prison of his lie.

Watch me

As I stand here

Bleeding

My passion turning red

In the oxygen of the air

Flowing down my body

In a steady current

From the torture of life

Watch me

As I step out of this cage

Into the blinding light

And screams of the crowd

Roaring all around

Slowly I take the steps

Soft seconds counting away

My wrists in chains

A final prayer drawing from weary lips

Watch me

On the forbidden stage

Alone in my helplessness

The noose hugging my neck

Rough rope cutting my skin

Those terrible shouts

Stabbing my spirit

Endlessly

And time counts down mercilessly

Breath, just breath

Heart beating finitely

For the moment dawns

And the end arrives

With all eyes on me

Watch me

My final moment of life

My final breath

My final heart beat

One last glance

One last dance

With Death, my cruel mistress

And the curtain closes

On the story of my life

Watch me

As I say goodbye

Forever

“Thank you Daddy” Juliette softly spoke under breath.

“You’re welcome pumpkin. Do you want me to stay awhile?”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight sweetheart. See you tomorrow?”

The ocean washed over the beach. The tears in Juliette’s eyes welled up. The ocean receded, back into the darkness as the sun set into the dark and stormy seas. She slowly closed the door without looking into his eyes, and locked every lock, deadbolt and chain. It took him a minute, but she could hear the wood of his shoes scuffle away from the door, as though he leaned in to listen, but sat down on the porch and stayed for awhile. Shot and killed at a traffic stop just last week, her late husband’s funeral wasn’t easy for anyone, as many feared for her, for she was the only one there who hadn’t wept. For the first time in her five years of marriage, she had the house all to herself, as the warmth that emanated from the glass of their portraits became as cold as an empty museum.

As she trudged up the staircase, at the top of the stairs, she could see her mother still standing on the ledge of the bridge, as the wind violently whipped her hair across her back. With each step, there was a creak she hadn’t noticed until now, as they soon began to fade into the howling winds that blew the leaves from the trees, much like the sound of the ocean receding.

The green rug that ran down the hall felt like a mile through the black nylon beneath her feet, as she slipped off her black shoes, muddied from the cemetery lawn. Though no lights in the house were on, she could see her reflection in the passing picture frames, but could no longer recognize who she was.

She hadn’t touched his side of the room since… His pile of jeans and shirts he threw towards the hamper and missed, still remained saturated with an essence she once despised, but now dare not disturb to preserve a fleeting scent that had long begun its decay. Standing there in the dark of the room, looking down at all the vivid colors that once brought her comfort, smeared into a tormenting grayscale of numbness. Perhaps it wasn’t just her mother standing on that ledge that day, but a part of herself as well. As the walls began closing in, it became more and more difficult to breathe, as she began to hyperventilate, but could not feel her lungs burning or the cavalry in her heart racing, pounding their hooves in her brain like a thunderous migraine, drowning out the sound of her cell phone incessantly buzzing in her clutch, as she held her late husband’s gun to her head and pulled the trigger...

The steel hammer of the gun smashed against the casing and primer in the chamber. As the gunpowder ignited, the bullet launched as though it were the last mission to space, screaming an ear piercing ringing as it reverberated throughout the resounding steel of the barrel, exploding out of the barrels end…

Temporal Lobe (right hemisphere)

Assists with the perception and interpretation of sound. Plays a role in the recognition of objects and visual memory.

Through the blinding light, Juliette could barely see where the ear piercing sound came from. It was the priest’s lapel mic as he stepped back from the microphone on the podium. A gale of wind blew out her candle’s flame. As she looked back into the pews, she could see her father, and the empty seat next to him as he smiled, staring through the tears in his eyes. Roman took her by the hand and relit her flame with his. As the priest spoke, together they took their flames and lit the ceremony candle in the priest’s hands. Before the priest could finish the latin words, the front door of church slammed wide open as another strong wind burst in to object. All Juliette could see was the empty seat next to her father, as a torrentuous rain began to pour in the front door, and pelted the marble of the cathedral floor...

Frontal Lobe (right hemisphere)

Suppresses socially inappropriate behavior. Predicts consequences of actions. Plays a role in the choice between good and bad actions.

One hundred capsules of partially digested sertraline hydrochloride and fluoxetine showered the toilet water along with her vomit… Roman held her hair back and pulled the strays one by one from her clammy back. He received repeated calls on his radio, and hesitated to answer. The dispatcher began to inflect aggravated concern. She wanted to whisper “I’m sorry” under her breath, but her throat went numb as the stomach acid ate at the lining of her vocal chords. The chatter on the radio repeatedly asked for his location. He flushed the toilet, let go of her and answered the call. When her escape flushed away into a whirlpool and swallowed, all that remained was her reflection. As the toilet filled, she could see her regret getting closer and closer, staring deep into the dilated void in her eyes, as the power went out in their apartment.

Parietal Lobe (right hemisphere)

Assists with the interpretation of touch. Plays a role in the knowledge of numbers and their relationships. Helps with understanding objects, shapes, and space.

The glass of the mirror felt cold as she looked into her reflection, judging her own appearance and choice of clothing. She flipped on the lightswitch, abhorred by what she saw, turned the light back off, immediately opened the medicine cabinet and located her prescription. She became confused as she shook the container and noticed only a single pill as it rattled in the plastic.

Parietal Lobe (left hemisphere)

Goose down feathers had once again took their flight as Juliette slashed the bedsheets, pillows, and mattress, found a cologne bottle Roman had never worn for her, and smashed it against the closet mirror, where it exploded and shattered the glass, fracturing her reflection into a million pieces. Knife in hand, she stood there amidst the madness of broken hangers, emptied drawers, and sunlight which peered through the ripped and torn curtains, illuminated off the shards of glass that surrounded her bleeding bare feet like a disco ball, and faded away as the sound of thunder shook the apartment, and the clouds put the sun to sleep. The bulb of a lamp, that laid broken amongst the chaos on its side, flickered what remained of its life.

Neocortex (left hemisphere)

In humans, the neocortex is involved in higher functions such as sensory perception, generation of motor commands, spatial reasoning and language. Over time, information from certain memories that are temporarily stored in the hippocampus can be transferred to the neocortex as general knowledge.

Looking past her six year old reflection of the backseat car window, frozen in a moment of time, beyond the tail light of the car next to theirs that went out, beyond her father running from their car through heavy traffic, beyond the car accidents and concerned citizens that gathered, and the officers that couldn’t get through, she could see her mother standing barefoot on the ledge of the bridge.

Surreal as it may be, she was now standing outside of the car, as though she were standing in this memory looking in on her life, this thought, tucked away in the vast reaches of her mind. Only here, and only now, would she be able to reach her, she thought. Although it would be futile, and the outcome would never change, her impulses urged and compelled her curiosity to that ledge. As she ran for her, the bridge seemed to physically lengthen, as her mother gently began her descent, getting further and further away from her, as existence began to reanimate in this nightmare, slowly. In one moment she was running in the same place silently screaming her mother’s name as she disappeared over the ledge and out of sight, and in the blink of an eye she had her arms wrapped around her mother’s back holding her tight, as they both began their two hundred and forty five foot journey to the water’s edge. As she moved around her mother to get a closer look, she saw her own face on her mother’s body. She wasn’t sad, she looked calm, at peace, and almost happy. In another blink, her mother was no longer there, and it was just her, as she hit the face of the ocean, with hers.

She awoke crouched naked in darkness, with her face between her knees, and her arms holding her legs, surrounded by millions of others doing just same and wailing throughout this hell. She couldn’t see past her own hair that draped her face, nor would she want to or try, as a light, a warm and familiar feeling seemed to illuminate her body and permeated her eyelids, where she could no longer hide. Although she could feel the cold muddy ground beneath her feet, saturated with insects and bugs that crawled out and in between her toes, she could also feel familiar arms hold her close and lifted her from this place, like a feather…

It was bright. Behind her closed eyelids, she could feel all of the colors of the sun in all of their vibrance. She could hear the ocean waves crashing not far from them, coming in closer until she felt it splash against her ankles, where the feeling of the things that crawled between her toes became the fleeting feeling of sand and water washing them away, as her tears finally fell from her eyes. Roman’s hand held the back of her head, as he gently tucked his fingers into her hair. She couldn’t believe it, and dared not open her eyes, afraid that this dream would end, until she felt his lips on her forehead. She betrayed herself as her eyes opened and saw him aglow holding her close, as though he could never, nor would ever, let her go again. She began to convulse as she cried, and all the tears she had ever held back, and all of the emotions she had ever held in, fell from her face and washed away as the ocean receded. After a long while, when the last tears had come and gone, Roman wiped what remained from her face and held her cheeks with his gentle hands, leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Surrendered by this overwhelming feeling that filled her heart with all of the colors of his. She couldn’t help herself, and closed her eyes once more, took to the tips of her toes that just sank into the sand beneath her feet, keeping her as she was. She could hear her heart beating as though it was in her ears, and then she could hear his beating until both began to beat in unison. The ocean washed over their feet once more. As his lips left hers, she could no longer feel him holding her. She opened her eyes, and he had gone, as the ocean receded back towards a sun that seemed it would never set. Then she heard it...

It was soft at first, but as she placed her hands over her stomach she could feel it, beating, until it became all that she could hear, it became all that she could feel, it became the only purpose worth living for redeeming…

As the bullet exited the other side of her skull, it took with it, pieces of her mind that she would never get back, just to let the light in, as it stuck into the wood beyond the drywall.

She opened her eyes after some time had passed in that state of flux, drenched in her own blood as it soaked into her father’s coat, with the pistol still in her grip.

“I’m sorry Daddy.”

He shushed her softly with tears in his eyes, “It’s okay pumpkin, everything’s going to be okay.” He held her close, threw the gun from her hand, and rocked her gently as the song of sirens came closer and closer. She closed her eyes once more, placed her hands over her stomach and felt another smaller heart beating within. She smiled as this feeling of joy washed over her and did not recede.

Alina was lost in a massive crowd.

Her small stature offered no support as adults ran past her, shoving her back. She extended her arms forward so far that she could see her wrists peering out from her dark grey coat. With one hefty swing, she flung both of her arms out in an attempt to shove people’s legs aside. It worked, but only for a short while. Alina had just run into the beginning of a storm, it only worsened as gunshots rang out like thunder. She felt her heart drop into her stomach and churn, begging her to run but also keeping her frozen in her place. Her father was in that crowd, and as the gunshots became more frequent she became more worried. Prying her feet off the pavement, she ran deeper into the crowd calling for her father.

“Tata?!” She yelled, frantically looking back and forth.

More adults came charging her way, blocking everything. Pushing herself through the crowd became more and more difficult, especially since now the wounded were joining. She passed men and women with gunshot wounds in their arms, legs, and chests. Blood spilled onto the friends that carried them and stained the pavement below her. She could feel the pools of blood beneath her feet and the way it seemed to seep into her worn shoes and feet. It would enter her bloodstream and pump through her veins, giving her a strange sense of power and grief.

Alina needed to find her father.

Whether the people around her were wounded or not, Alina violently shoved harder until she made it to the scene that started the whole fiasco. Men from the Securitate, or Secret Police, stood at the end of the crumbling street, basking in the destruction. Their faces were cold and unmoving as they watched people being beaten and detained. The military style uniforms they wore were as stiff and unforgiving as they were and they wore it like a badge of honor. Those proud Communists loved to watch, they loved the rush, they loved it so much it made their hearts rot and slowly decay inside of them until all that was left is the empty husk where their souls once shined. Out of the corner of Alina’s eye, she noticed a police officer raising his gun at someone. When she turned to look, she found her father at the other end of the barrel.

“No…” Alina muttered. Tears welled in her eyes, but before any of them could roll down her cheeks, she lunged herself towards her father.  The closer she got to him, the more she noticed the details around the scene. Her father’s black suit was torn and his brown hair fell in front of his face, coated in a thick layer of sweat. His tried desperately to put on a brave face, but Alina could see the fear in his forest green eyes. Those were the same eyes that greeted her in the cold, early mornings when she didn’t want to get up and go to school. They were the same ones that slowed her frantic heart as thunder crashed above her home, the late nights she’d clumsily waltz into her father’s tiny study and watch him smile before she even opened the door. Alina watched as the fragile glass that coated his eyes cracked the moment the police officer cocked his gun. Alina quickened her pace, and before her father or the officer had any time to process what was happening, the gun went off and Alina jumped in front of her father. Just as the bullet was about to pierce her, everything quickly went dark.

Finally, she jolted up, almost falling off of her bed.

After several moments, Alina felt her heart restart abruptly and made a sound that was a cross between a wheeze and a choke. She clutched her chest and tried to bury her fingernails in the clammy skin that felt like it was vibrating. The night was cold and silent but Alina could not hear it. Instead, she listened to the blood coursing through her ears, the loud and overwhelming sound wrapped itself around her brain and squeezed as hard as it could. Alina sat between the white sprawled bed sheets that felt like waves swallowing her whole and tried to still her breathing.

“It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream” she repeated to herself.

Soon, the cool blanket and bed sheets that enveloped her didn’t feel as aggressive or hot. Now they calmly caressed her body to settle down in the mattress. Goosebumps popped up on her skin as she felt her heart slow down and her hearing become clearer and clearer. Everyday it seemed like reality became clearer and clearer to her, the fragile barrier that followed her as a child was getting cracks. Sometimes she’d stare at it during school lectures or when her parents were quarreling in the kitchen and she’d sit in the living room and feel herself drift. The cracks appeared slowly and gradually, and each time one appeared or extended, Alina could feel her heart wretch. She also discovered that there was no way to repair those cracks, no amount of glue, no amount of sticky dough her mother made for pastries, no amount of wishing, there was nothing to be done. Alina always wondered what would happen once the barrier broke. She wondered if another one would come up in its place or if she wouldn’t be granted the privilege of having another. Alina could see the barrier in front of her bed and right in the middle a large crack appeared, much bigger than any of the ones she had seen before. This time her heart didn’t wretch, it remained still, but now an unsettling silence flooded the room. She backed up onto her pillows and buried herself beneath her blanket. Alina welcomed her bedsheets to swallow her whole and drown her in their sea, but they wouldn’t let her. Instead, she cried enough tears to fill a river and pulled the covers tight around her body until it felt like the outside world could not touch her anymore.

[This is an excerpt from the first chapter of a novel I am writing about life under communism in Romania.]