“I am not yet what I wish to be. I am not yet what I yearn to be. I am covered in layers of dirt and habits that cover my eyes. I shred my heart with my own hand. Those knives! Gleaming! Kitchen drawers and the rusty tools of the shed. Give them to me! You devils, there is no fire that can cover these tears. It is only me that begins to claw. I stand around the corner with a knife, watching myself- we are sharp and gleaming in the moonlight.”
She looks up, seeing nothing but darkness and the brilliant light.
“I always think it's them. Them with their ill thoughts. With their conspiracy. I take the bait when they sit together, gulp it down without thought. Give me your hooks! Gleaming! I swallow, tearing at my own mouth, cutting these lips!”
Greta’s eyes are glistening with tears.
“ I go outside to pick yellow leaves. I go upstairs, pretending to read. I watch them like characters in a movie, wishing I was them. Wishing I lived in a Barbie world with new cars and a large house and fashionable clothes. I see others and envy them. I envy the bed they wake up sharing. I envy them for the human lives they lead. My mind is full of questions. I am unsettled- standing here. Can you hear me? Bring me the knives!”
She shakes her head.
“I am not what I wish to be. I am not what I yearn to be.”
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