RAVEN:
The images of the night my parents were taken from me start to replay in my mind. It’s like whenever I speak about it, my mind begins to paint haunting images until it is satisfied with traumatizing me.
The way my mother’s hand went limp is vivid, occupying the floor of Mary’s living room.
The walls of the living room start caving in, and suddenly I forget how to use my lungs and nose.
“Excuse me,” I murmur in a rough tone. I look at Mary, who is still staring at me with a mix of awe and terror. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“First floor, and the second door on the left,” she says in a small tone. “If you need help, I can—”
“No!” I almost yell, getting to my feet.
I don’t wait for another word before rushing upstairs, my heels clicking sharply against the wood. Once I’m inside the
