by Brea, 17 (she/they)
The photo appears on the dying phone.
A frightened, depressed, angry girl
Trapped in a body she doesn’t recognize
As her own.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you guys.”
My heart
No longer steady.
Now like a ticking time bomb
Waiting to go off
TRYING to go off.
A reaction?
But it can’t
It stops, continues, stops, continues
EXPLODES.
A reaction.
My brain coming back to life,
Pacing, thinking
“What to do, what to do, what to do?”
Then another reaction.
R U N.
Through the crowd of hungry teens
Avoiding their “heys”, “watch its”, and “freak”
QUICKER.
Banging on their door
Spamming the phone.
Straight to voicemail.
I’M COMING IN THERE!
Another reaction.
Ramming down the solid, heavy door
Looking, waiting for another reaction.
And there she was.
Brea (she/they) was born and raised in Beaufort, South Carolina. Their hobbies consist of drumming, reading, writing, and playing the oboe. She hopes to study criminology, forensic science, or political science in college. They can be followed on Instagram: @angyspooder
Bridge Ink 