LET THE TIGER PLAY
Prologue
Out in the sun, above the great divide.
We sing a song that we've known for long.
Let the trumpet play it's song so the tune can at once be heard.
Learn it, savor it, before it goes away.
Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why won't you come out to play?
The tune has died, the trumpet can no longer be mended.
So let the Tiger play.
Let the Tiger run around and jump and hide and play.
Let him see the hatred the world has hid away.
Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why won't you wake today?
The tune is decayed, the trumpet is lost.
The Tiger prances around the field, acting both good and bad.
Acting smart, and playing rough and secretly very mad.
Lock up the Tiger, with a bolt and key.
Look at it closely and you will see:
Where green eyes now lie blue.
Where ferocious claws now lie gentle hands.
Where clear, vivid stripes now lie long, curly hair.
Rachel lies within the Tiger. The Tiger lies within her.
Are surprised that Rachel is only five?
Where blue, crystalline eyes now lie green.
Where soft, gentle hands, now lie ferocious claws.
Where long, brown, curly hair now lies vivid stripes.
Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why can't you make up your mind?
The bolt is loose the key is lost. The world cannot give up.
So let the Tiger play it's game.
It'll surely give up some day.
Let it wander around the pen, as it watches you slowly die.
The beautiful stripes are seen as scars.
Mental and physical, the Tiger slowly dies.
It roars and moans at the trumpets tune, is heard deep inside.
Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why won't you let the Tiger go?
Let it die away as it speaks your name slowly in your ear.
Entices you with every word, as you learn to play it's game.
The Tiger sits and watches as you slowly die inside.
With all that he makes you do, you slowly fade away.
The Tiger feeds on this and that alone.
The Tiger's game has now changed as Rachel begins to learn.
The monster can now be seen, staring back at you in the mirror.
So sing the song, that dare be heard, above this great divide.
Learn to fly away, above us only sky.
Spread your wings and face your fears, as the Tiger purrs his tune.
He hasn't died, I'm afraid to say.
For this, you will pay the price soon.
He waits and watches to play his game with you.
This now I can see.
Learn the ropes, Rachel.
And let the Tiger play.
Chapter One
Life has never thrown me an easy pitch. Mostly curves, but this isn't a story about baseball. Ever since I escaped from the womb, I feel like I've always had to struggle. But who doesn't have a hard life?
My name is Rachel, and this is a biography of some sort. I may be only 16, but I've been through more than your average grown adult. I've seen shit that no person should see and I've done so much. But I live my life with no regrets.
My dad was an abusive alcoholic. He would hurt me and my mom and my brother. Lori, my mom, would try so hard to get us away from him, but nothing ever helped. He was the one with the "iron fist" if you know what I mean. I remember once when he locked me in the bathroom shouting "You move..." and then he'd shake his fist in the air. He did that to me when I was two. I'd sit in the corner trying to hide myself from the world as I'd try and block out the muffled cries of my brother and my mom. I still don't understand why he spared me. Why me?
Why did he sexually abuse me as a two year old? Why did he tell me that everything was ok when he "checked" to make sure I was "normal". Why did my mom not help me when she saw the bruises forming on my stomach. From purple to green in a matter of days. I guess that's why I've associated myself as a "tiger" from early on. I associated those beautiful markings on the beast with my scars caused by a beast. Forever marked, i guess you could say.
I became a ward of the state at the age of two and a half. My grandma decided she had had enough watching him do this to us. Me and my brother were put in foster care and I was only allowed to see my family on certain days with supervision. That's what made me crack. That's when the voices really began talking.
They started when my dad locked me in the bathroom. As tiny whispers growing in fear. Then they began to grow louder and louder with every punch. With every scream i yelled they began to gnaw at my brain. They began to scream just as loud, until I decided it wasn't worth the energy to scream. They did it for me.
I never thought I was crazy. But what three year old understands what "crazy" is. I grew up fast in that house. Especially living with my dad. Never really had much of a childhood. But still...I see now that I was completely insane, but back then, I couldn't see inside of my skin. You have to step out and take a look around to understand what's really going on.