Black birds flew high in the morning sky, covering the sun like a thick dark shawl, blocking its light. I felt like my soul lost its light too, as you drove us away smiling, releasing the dirt that covered the road.
You were talking to me, but I said nothing while tears ran down my face. I was turned around staring out the back window of your pickup at the home I shared with a family who thought of me as nothing, but commodity.
You spoke words I couldn’t hear, words that fell on the dirty floor of your truck. I turned around, watching as my home got smaller inside the brown dirt cloud, in the side mirror, my heart breaking.
I felt like nothing, wanting to hide in that black hole that covered the sun as the birds flew over. What was wrong with me, that Papa hated me so, I thought. What did I do to make him sell me like a piece of meat?
As the sun reappeared, I made up in my mind that if Papa hated me, then I would hate him too.
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