Marked By Rejection by Avery Stone
Death Or Redemption?
I've wished for death many times in my life.At the peak of the most painful moments in my life, and the quietest scenarios where I was in no physical pain, but the emotional baggage weighing me down wished to sink me into an inescapable well of misery.
When you picture death, you hope it's exactly like the movies: a moment of flashbacks, your life streaming before your eyes at a speed so quick, it feels like the years leading to your demise is measured by two slow blinks.
That was partially right.
I began to see my life unfolding before my eyes, as memories from the moment of my birth lifted to the surface of my consciousness and I became a victim of witnessing it all. My birth was surrounded by flames, wolves of various shades of white and black creating a circle around my sleeping figure and howling to the moon in unison.
There wasn't time to register it, for it moved on through my childhood. The good memories that were buried so far beneath the bad, I'd earnestly forgotten about them. At death, they rewarded me with their existence, displaying the times where I was the happiest.
I'd run freely in the forest with Father in tow, Mother sitting on a picnic blanket while humming quietly with her swollen belly. My obsession with my little brother started from his birth, like it was my duty to be fascinated by him while preserving his innocence as I began to lose mine.
It wasn't long before the dark memories came strolling in, and I wished for those to move faster. Things I'd buried on purpose rose upward for my acknowledgment, and how I wished for my end to come faster, for this was far more painful to my heart.
Seeing my struggle in third person was an eye-opener, because it made me realize what a pawn I'd become. How each negative hit to my being left wounds that never really healed. They were hidden under bandages, layers and layers to hide the true pain disappointment and betrayal had left behind.
I wished for no one to see the pain that rooted itself into my personality - my resilience and desire to be strong withering away the moment I failed the one being I cared about the most.
Kyle.
His death broke me, and I could see what everyone saw when they looked at my thin frame. The funeral was where it was most potent as I looked into my very own blue eyes that were almost white in nature. No emotions were left in those hollowed orbs. They were blank, like a canvas. But instead of starting over to aid myself on the path to healing, I dug my own grave by putting the blame on myself.
The habit went on as life moved along - with or without me - and though it felt like I wasn't living in those teen years where everything was a blur, I was living through my nightmares. The difference was I couldn't scream at the top of my lungs.
Silence was futile, and if I didn't obey, any hint of stability I thought I'd established for myself would be left in ruins. The years passed, and I grew older, taller, darker with too much time spent working in the sun. I witnessed my stage of addiction to getting tattoos so the pain of the drill would temporarily mute the chaos happening in my mind.
I understood why so many quietly commented in the shadows about the change in my appearance. The girl who was filled with so much light grew dimmer and dimmer until there was nothing but darkness oozing out of me.
The stress of simply living had made my hair go from its once two-toned strands to pure white, enough that many would surely think I'd aged a good ten years in a few short months.
Color dye to the rescue! The intense orange covered most of my roots and shifted to the wonderful turquoise I adored. I couldn't hide all those white strands, but in comparison to before, it looked like a style I'd begged to achieve versus the burden of all the self-hate that leaked into changing my once beautiful genetic traits.
I went from colorful dresses to simply black everything. I guess the black lipstick and added tattoos encouraged the "gothic" out of me. To the world, I was being a rebel, and a small aspect of myself wished for that to be my prime circumstance, but now that I could visually see myself, I was so far from that image.
I was hurting - suffocating - begging for someone to see just how much pain I was fighting desperately to survive...but alas. No one ever noticed, and if they did? They really didn't care.
The rest of the memories were the same repetition: morning journals to Kyle, long shifts with my tips taken away, tiny warm-up dinners, and the nights either ending in sleeping alone or when Travis needed me.
How miserable I looked the mornings of those nights particularly, the dark circles under my eyes and the intense makeup to hide the damage. The extensive blush and other makeup products gave off the appearance that I wasn't one to really mess with.
At some points, I looked like a girl who would love to dive into trouble, but my attire, markings, and makeup? It was just another persona of myself that I couldn't back up.
A rebel who couldn't own up to igniting a rebellion.
The end was approaching, but before my body could involuntarily tense up like it had, there I was - in the backseat of the car, my viewpoint up close to Hendrick as I said those solemn words.
"I'll never forgive you."
It was as simple as that. Four words.
Yet, I was left speechless while this out-of-body experience made me see the true threat in my eyes. That second of empowerment I'd felt had surged through every aspect of my body, oozing outward and portraying a woman I never would have expected could be living within me.
All this while, I'd begged to be someone of power. To be respected the way people respected my mother. I knew all of that was earned, but with the buried memories of my mother, I recalled how she'd carried her head up high and the world had no choice but to bow.
I'd envied that part of her when I began to lose myself - circumstance after circumstance leaving me marked with disgust at what I'd become and how I should have been like my mother who didn't tolerate anything against her will.
That was why I'd buried it away: I couldn't be reminded of what I wanted to be.
I'd given up trying, yet here she was, revealing herself through my eyes that weren't even blue anymore. I was so far from the innocent color that made me feel so shy and frail.
These orbs of unforgiving fury were like a blood moon, only they pulsed with an intensity of orange like my orbs were now the scorching sun and begged to burn the man before me to ashes.
My viewpoint continued to zoom in as the present seemed to slow down while I flowed within myself. The world around me turned into nothing but black, but with each flick of a switch, screens of memories began to pop up all around me as I stood in the middle.
However, I wasn't alone.
There stood a little girl, one with colorful orange-to-blue strands like mine. Her tanned skin and the multiple wounds, bruises, and obvious signs of trauma were out on display. Chains held her back and were dusty like they had been upon her wrists and ankles for eons, but when she looked up, her expression didn't project a victim.
Even with the scar running down the right side of her face, her eyes didn't plead with me to free her.
No. She didn't wish for me to free her.
It was like a mindfuck, my consciousness unable to comprehend whether the chains were stopping her or protecting her - protecting me.
She smiled brilliantly then, and I was horrified and completely lost in admiration because those orbs of flaming suns could be mine. I could become this being and all I had to do was unlock the chains holding her away from me.
"Not yet."
I blinked at her tender voice, and it replicated mine as a child. Slowly, I fell to my knees before her, and I couldn't help reaching out to lay my hands upon her cheeks. They were hot, like the rest of my surroundings, but her intentions were clear.
Her smile never fading.
"Are you..."
"You?" she countered while finishing my obvious question. "Yes, I am."
"Why..." I couldn't really finish my question because there were too many to ask.
Why was she chained? Why was she even here? Why couldn't I harbor a glimpse of the confidence she carried?
"The time is not right," she stressed and lifted her chained wrists until those small palms pressed against my cheeks. I realized then that those flushed surfaces of mine were wet with tears.
"Turmoil is upon us. Darkness will consume our vision. We will be mocked, ruined, and set free. Once marked and exiled, we will finally see the light. This scar is as prominent as the skull upon our chest. We will be broken by one to be healed by another."
It was as if she were from the future, but it didn't make sense because she was the child version of myself. I couldn't ignore her insight, the magnetizing intensity of her eyes pulling me in as she stressed the importance of her forewarning.
"Do not fear the Mark of Rejection. Embrace it, survive its trials, and you will find where you rightfully belong."
I continued to stare into her eyes, and her silence dawned upon us as if she were waiting for my answer. The urge to agree was growing by the second, but I had one question that couldn't be dismissed.
"Will I be able to free you someday?"
For a moment in time, there was the sight of a child being offered a reward far greater than their expectations - her eyes widened with a speck of hope before the dazzling smile radiated through her face.
"One day. Sooner rather than later. It is coming," she reassured me and whispered, "Just don't give up on whom you wish to be."
Don't give up.
"Okay," I whispered. "I'll accept the Mark of Rejection and not give up. As long as it means you one day gain freedom."
For the first time in a long time, I felt the corners of my lips begin to rise. When was the last time I'd genuinely smiled? When could I fully express my emotions that were hidden by a mask of blank apathy?
The reason could be because I didn't believe those around me deserved to witness the truth behind what was hidden, but this child - my inner being who was chained and wished to see me prosper - held high hopes for me.
She was the first to actually believe I could achieve something and not fail.
"Farewell, Gwenivere. May your wings be freed from captivity and you find your true destiny."
With one last smile that made her eyes twinkle with pride, she slipped from my grasp like the rest of the world, and suddenly, I was in the present.
A second before I was engulfed by light.