By: Brenli

Have you ever been to a party, and out of sheer boredom people began to talk of random things and then they started to discuss what they were afraid of? I have. Mind you, I was only 5 then. I shy little 5-year-old child. And when it was my turn to say what I was afraid of, I told them, “I’m scared of myself.” Just to get them off my back. Because I was a very anti-social child and I preferred not to be there. But my parents brought me there so I had to stay.

Every single one of the other children laughed at such a thought. “Scared a yourself?”

“That’s so stupid! Bet she’s ‘fraid of the dark or something! You just don’t wanna tell!”

And the children began to laugh again and I shrank away from them. The rest of the night was spent playing tricks on me. They told me my parents wouldn’t pick me up after school. And they poured glue on my seat, and stuck gum in my hair, and refused to leave me alone. In fact, the very night of the party, they made me sleep with a lamp shining in my face, and when I finally did fall asleep, they stuck my hand in warm water.

After that night things were not the same; my friends found fun in tormenting me, and my anti-social tendencies grew. I felt a slight stirring within me, but I thought it was just my sadness.

This I stuck with until I was 14, and brought to another party as an attempt to gain more friends. Like I didn’t have enough. ‘Cause I know, I know that friends aren’t friends. No, they’re not.

“… Yeah, I tell you this chick was so scared she wouldn’t even walk down the hallway to go the bathroom and she nearly pissed her pants!”

“Just ‘cause someone brought a frog in?”

“Damn straight!”

“Hahah! I’m not scared of frogs. That’s stupid. I can’t handle closed spaces though.”

“Claustrophobic!”

“Shut up! Like you’re not scared of anything??”

“Actually, I can’t stand dolls. Those things scare me so bad!”

Thus the conversation proceeded, and I felt that little flame stir within me again, that flame that never disappeared after that one party, and I brought up my shields, yet I was too late.

“So what are you scared of, huh?” A guy asked me. I took the time to look into his deep green eyes, to see that I wished to be alone, away from this, that I didn’t want to speak.

“Talk!” He demanded. I suppose that just because I have a crush on a guy doesn’t make him magically perfect or anything.

And that flame grew suddenly, and on instinct my fist clenched and my can of root beer exploded over my hand. I gasped as I felt the coldness seep into my pants, yet he pressed on. And I told him, “I’m scared of myself.” And it was true, because I was frightened of this flame growing in me that I suddenly couldn’t control.

And as I predicted, I was ridiculed.

“Afraid of yourself? What kind of shit is that?” And the people laughed and the next day I was teased and talked about and turned into a charm to be gawked at. And that little flame in me grew and grew and it became harder to control. So to keep from hurting anyone, I purposely shoved myself away from the world even more than I had initially. And I knew then that when I’d first said I was afraid of myself that it was a premonition of myself now. Because I was very, very afraid of myself.

But why do I tell you this now? Well, then, I will tell you due to events of this very night right now:

“What do you think you’re doing?” Father yells, as my brother drops his bags at the door.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving this God-forsaken Hell hole!”

Father seems hurt at first; his face is twisted in emotion, and suddenly he explodes. “YOU WANNA LEAVE??? THEN YOU LEAVE!!!!!!! I DON’T NEED NO FAGGOT SON IN MY HOUSE!!!”

My brother sobs, “I’m sorry I love a man,” And then he turns to leave, but then falls to the ground. The shattered glass lands around him, and the alcohol soaks into the cut that crashed its way into the back of his head.

Father picks up another bottle of beer, preparing to throw it at his only son. And it was then that I blew up. I tell you, it wasn’t me. I swear it wasn’t me! It was what’s inside me…

I took Father’s hunting rifle, shot several rounds into the air. Father lies dead now.

And it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me! Don’t you let anyone tell you different! I was looking through the eyes of someone else, that’s all. And my body was just the puppet!

I know that tomorrow I’m gonna be taken away, and I’ll probably be forgotten, because I was just the girl who said the wrong things at two parties and was never let down for it.

I swear to you, though, I’m not afraid of tomorrow. I’m only scared of myself.