Imagine a child. Cared for in the utmost love. Within only a few years time they discover hyperlipidemia and the state of her well being. She had an immune system similar to that of an impoverished, poverty-stricken being left raw to every/any infection that breached any form of contact. Then, parents stop feeding her cheese. She loves cheese. And as it goes, tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy were performed on the girl at the age of four. Unlike others, the recovery period took months to heal the fragile system. Taken out of school and a plethora of friends escaped any memory of past interaction. Her only friends were books, nurses and doctors. Except the ones that drew her blood every few weeks, they were the prime enemy.

A few years have past. A son is born, their excitement was exuberant at the very least. Now cast aside, merely a shadow that is inaudibly heard or seen she became. New house. New furniture. Her own room. Told to “keep open at all times except when dressing”. They didn’t trust her. She devizes and finds a way to keep the door locked. There is anger. A screw driver is brought. No more doorknob. One day on the internet in her room, she then misspells the url and women with no clothes baring hairy parts of their body. It opens new windows — another window opened — panic — sweat — anxiety — now they continue to flood the entire screen — attempts to deplete the fire that consumes the screen. Parents happened to walk down the hall, pushing the door to come in. They bellow their fury as she looks down, each tear falls rapidly, hoping to explain. The computer suddenly is in their room, screen facing towards the bed.

The brother. Blamed for breaking father’s glasses. Large, swift hands moved towards… She cries unable to imagine the physical distress that has been laden upon his body. And yet, he has mischievously locked father out of the house in his pajamas. Has also taken a chair, that can roll, to the security system. Climb. Reaches. Red. Fire. The button is pushed. Father wakes and scolds using mouth and hands. Father lays to sleep. The fire brigade arrives. Windows with the image of concerned identically clothed men peaking inside. They continue to rattle at the bell and knock ferociously. The elder wakes once again. Assures the men everything is fine. Beats child.

Girl dreams of her brother dying. Wakes with an anguish unlike any other. Cries. The duvet engulfs. Perception is now changed. In reference to brother she does everything in her power to keep him safe and out of harms way.

One day. Reaching towards a glass vase. The girl sees and beckons a no. He ignores. Girl watches. Vase tips over. She shoves his hand out of the way. Vase is broken on the table. On the floor. Marbles, glass, flower arrangement. Everywhere. Her hand covered with blood. She takes him to a place where broken glass will not harm. Goes to the bathroom to wash the blood that continues.. They come out exclaiming, what happened. They see. Outrage reverberates. The walls seem to shake. They blame him. Search for him. The ground now shakes. Knowingly, the girl dashes to her brother. Hides him in the laundry room to prevent him from harm. Places him on top of the washer. Parents fail to find the boy. He is safe for now.

And yet, she still loves them.

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