Never in my life had I heard a scream like the one I heard and wrote about on a whim a few months ago. I'd like to take a few moments to revisit these screams, because I believe in expression, whether someone swears, cries or screams.
She screams. She screams and does not stop. I'm a believer in honor: honor thy father and mother, the bible says. I'm a believer of it and I hear the screams that are aimed at her mother and father.
But she screams. She screams and does not stop, in a state of hysteria, a panicked craze enveloping her mind, I'm thinking, and I wish she will stop before someone gets hurt.
Yet she screams. She screams and does not stop. Her voice echoes up the house to where I'm sitting, carries this far in a house large as this. I'm listening but I do not hear, and I pretend it does not exist.
Still she screams. She screams and does not stop. And I realize I don't know why, why this shriek has to come about, why I am here to hear it so blatantly obviously from someone I was just speaking to.
And she screams. She screams and does not stop.
I remember the screams, to a certain degree, but after rewriting all of this, so many months ahead... It makes me wonder about the experience itself, how my perception of the screams today is so different from what I wrote the day I actually heard them. Memories, the past, writing everything down... It makes me wonder what's real.
And what's not.
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