"Can you believe it in my youth I've wanted to be a poet, but all I ever knew was violence."
Dante's Inferno: An Animated Epic
All I ever wanted was to be free from the hell they put me through, and now I'm about to go into it.
I bet you were wondering what I'm talking about. I'll tell you about myself. My name is Celia Harrison. I'm a 13-year-old ugly outcast because of my twisted spine. I have brown eyes and dirty matted hair. I despised being ugly and mistreated.
I sorrowed with every glance in the mirror. Even looking into another's' horrid expressions were painful.
My father abused and raped me as I was vulnerable. Powerless. Voiceless. I gave birth to a boy named Adam, but my father took him away as I slept. After that, he incessantly raped me again.
Next to two years later, I gave birth to a girl named Olivia. Once again, Father took her away from my arms. Not long after that, my mother died from an illness. She was voiceless and pathetic as I was.
Father then brought home a new wife, but still, he continued to abuse me, cruelly.
One day, things went from bad to worst.
A man named Alberto Greyson asked to marry my young sister Nicole. I thought that was the worst of it. Father would refuse to let him marry Nicole, and so he instead offered me, putting me in a hellish nightmare. Mr. Greyson treated me like a crippled dog, rather than a wife. I felt that in every strained and broken movement I made towards or against him. I never thought I could get so used to being another man's toy.
One night, Nicole ran away from Father and took refuge at Mr. Greyson's house. The perverted miser welcomed her as a "daughter", and she was taught how to read. Using this to her advantage, we'd write letters to each other and keep in touch. Every time we did, I knew she was also unhappy. She never granted me the details, but I felt as if the ink itself was melancholic.
Mr. Greyson still desired Nicole, and he'd advance on her. Soon, she finally fled. He, in response, kicked her out of the house, leaving me devastated. He had the last laugh once more.
Little long after that, I couldn't take it anymore. I ran away from Alberto's abuse. I ran farther away from that living hell.
I felt secure for once in my life. It was all too good to be true. The day I got too comfortable, Alberto Greyson found me. He was armed with a shovel, and without a word, he brought it down to my shoulder. I heard a hocking noise coming from the impact. My shoulder squirted out blood, and the skin peeled near the area. It felt strangely cold and numb. I look up to Mr. Greysonwho raised the shovel again. "Don't!" said my futile cry. He swung it again, ripping into my chest, knocking me clean off of my feet.
This time, I felt the pain. Pints of blood escaped me, and ribs poked from my frail body. I screamed in vain as he raised that shovel once more.
My vision faded. One swing popped an eye out, another swing blurred the other with a red smear. One final swing to my limp and broken body was enough to make me drift away into a painful and final rest.
Everything I knew went black. After what seemed like forever, I felt a pulling sensation toward something. Then it appears to me as if I woke from a state of unconsciousness which is strange, considering I died. Did I get reincarnated? I'd ask myself.
Hopefully, it's not something awful...
I-I wish to be beautiful, and able to stand up straight and to be free...
"Shh," hummed a comforting voice. "it's okay, there's no need to cry."
"What's that noise...?" I ask, eyelids still sealed shut. I felt fully intact, as if I was never beaten in my life, but I chose not to move.
"I'm here, now. everything's going to be all right." the mere whisper replies.
"Who are you...? Why are you saying such nice things...? I don't understand." I open my eyes, greeted with full vision once more. Something I've long missed.
A woman stood before me. She had large hazel eyes and reddened auburn hair. She was dressed for a special occasion. I could tell as her lips were unnaturally red, she wore a beauty spot, and her earrings glinted with their own light. She smiled after seeing my own open eyes. The woman was radiant. Truly beautiful.
"Layla..." the woman said. "I'll call you Layla Esmeralda." her lithe hand brushed over my cheek.
"Where am I...?" I try. My eyes dance around, groping at whatever familiar thing I can notice. I drift back to the kind woman. "Why- why are you looking at me with such kind eyes...?"
The woman merely shakes her head, tossing her styled hair aside. "Layla means 'night', and Esmeralda means 'emerald'. Don't forget. You have such beautiful eyes, child."
She dodged my questions, but I was used to being ignored. It stung more now, as she was among the first to touch me without writhing with disgust. The first to look at me with a smile.
It felt complicated, but I trusted her. All will be well.
