Hidden

I am hidden. I am standing right in front of you in the supermarket; a smiling, healthy looking child, and you probably smile automatically or, more likely, don’t even give me a second glance. I am standing a little too close to my mother, always. Loud noises make me jump, and, when my parents aren’t around, I can have a violent temper. I don’t think twice about hitting a schoolmate that I don’t agree with. Most people think I am a troublemaker, and try to ignore me. I am hidden. My sister is hidden, too. She is the opposite of me. She shows no reaction to any loud noises, excitement never shows on her face. She is an old lady in a young girl’s body. She stands as far away from our parents as she possibly can. Always. You would like her, if she would just show a bit more of herself, would try more. But she never tries. My brother is hidden. He is a normal child, who loves his parents and engages with his classmates. Sometimes you might think he is spoiled, and that would be correct. My sister and I spoil him. We keep him hidden. Hidden from what no-one kept us from. HE will be normal. HE will have a good life. HE will be hidden. My sister and I do not get along, but that one thing we agree on. HE will make it. HE will be what we had always wished that we could be. Innocent, and normal.  He is our child, in many ways. I will go on to make many of the same mistakes that my mother made. I will have a violent life and violent nightmares that are hidden behind fake smiles. My sister will make all of her own mistakes. She will never trust a man, not enough to have a real relationship. She will never have children, never be dependent upon anyone other than herself. And, hidden from life as we will be, we will still know that what we are doing is wrong, that we should be doing something different, but whatever that might be is hidden from us. We are hidden.

 

 

 

 

Hidden

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