The Life Of Luella Pt. 2

I tried to read his face, before he even spoke. She was home, no wait, he's squinting, shes not.

"Yea she's home", hes says while giving that awkward strange look he always gives me. He's smiling but not really, and his eyelids look heavy and weak. I hate it. You would of thought that he had noticed the politely disgusted look on my face. Was he hitting on me? For some reason my naive thoughts won't let me go there. I think a lot, and I even chuckle to myself from time to time. Which is probably a good indication that i think TOO much. I'm not going to go there.

"Okay, could you let her know I'm here to pick her up?", I say while looking at the Jehovah's witness awkwardly look around with a nervous smile on his face, then look down at his watch and walk away. They usually come in two's, that's weird. I guess technically they can go out on their own and canvass at there own time. But who would want to? That guy of course, and a few very motivated people. Wow, shouldn't I be thinking of something else? Or should I not be thinking at all? I'm probably worrying now. Oh great.

The Life of Luella Pt. 1

By the time I was 17 I had already done many things. I had almost a dozen different jobs, I had all types of relationships, and my experiences were both empowering and shocking. My journey isn't easy to tell, and many people I'm sure, would be offended just listening to it. That part of my life, holds my deepest and darkest secrets. These are my adolescent years, this is my story.

When I went over, her older brother was arguing with a Jehovah's Witness at the door. The Witness was in a crisp light grey suit, he had nicely combed hair with just a small amount of gel and a large welcoming grin on his face. From his hand was a distressed leather briefcase. David, Marissa's 32 year old brother who still lived at home, was wearing the craziest button up shirt I had ever seen. Mice were playing badminton matches, strategically placed all over the garment. Hideous. It was just like me to analyze an outfit at the first opportunity. Was I that shallow? Maybe I'm just observant, or curious. That certainly sounds better.

"Hi Greg", I say while standing sheepishly behind the Witness.

They both stopped their bickering and slowly adjusted their gaze toward me. I smiled a quick small smile, trying to be somewhat polite. "Is Marissa home?"

Thoughts

I don't think I ever quite found a way to be happy. I have a few friends, many goals, but few resources, at least I think so. Sometimes jealousy would overcome me when I compared myself to someone that looks calm and happy. I don't expect to be happy, but I sure damn want to be.

I worry a lot. I wish the word carefree applied in some way to my own personality. If I could find a way not to think so much I would; not to dwell on something so insignificant, then the next day it wouldn't even matter. Its hard to pretend nothing is wrong. People see me differently, they don't know. I don't even think I know.

I feel fragile; everything upsets me. I am so fucking damn irritated. I can't sit, or stand. My thoughts control me, and I wish I had an off switch.

Fishing

The truck was white. Her face was stained with blood. Nothing would stop him from hitting her. If no one came she would die. She yelled on top of her lungs, but no one heard, she cried but he didn't care. If she disappeared no one would even notice. Night would turn to day, and daybreak would awaken her little sister who slept close to the window. She slept with one eye open and one hand underneath her pillow, where a small pocket knife was cradled.

"Why do you sleep so close to the window?", the blond girl asked puzzled

"Because while your sleeping, I grind my teeth, waiting, wondering if Satans soldier will finally come and mutilate my body".

The blond girl laughed awkwardly, shifting her eyes then flipping her hair, "where's you're bathroom?"

The brunette smiled brightly at her; "we don't fucking have one".

Hidden

Irena Sendler was a Polish Catholic Social worker who saved 2, 500 Jewish Children, smuggling them out of the Warsaw Ghetto. She provided them with false documents and sheltered them in different group children's homes outside the Ghetto.


It was easy to look like a Polish Catholic, but it was much harder to actually say the words, that I was one. The most difficult part was watching my people go off to die while I stood sullenly to the side, my hair in two innocent braids behind my ears. I wanted to burst into tears as I saw my teachers, my classmates, and my neighbours marching with their suitcases in the street. There were women, children, and babies among the crowd. The Nazis took everyone. I wanted so desperately to join the march to the Ghetto, so that I could share in their despair. I knew though, that if I did, I would definitely be shot. I was only thirteen, but I knew that even though it was wrong to pretend I was Arian, it was much worse to give up and die.

November 1943, Poland

Irena pulled the covers tight around my body the way I liked it most. She wiggled me after she was done and placed her finger on my nose.
"You must be good, Angela", she says with a warm smile, "be on you best behaviour".
I began to feel an inexpressible sadness come over me. I thought of my mother and father who gave me to Irena just a week ago. A tear falls gently down my cheek.
" Why do you cry Angela?", she says with a pained look on her face.
" I cry because I know I will have to leave you Irena", I say wiping my tears from my face "and I'm scared I will never see my parents again".
"Your parents would want you to be brave", Irena says with a pause "they would want you to fight".

She says goodnight, and leaves. I try to close my eyes but my heart is thumping too loud to sleep. I lie there wide awake, wondering where my parents are, and where my little sister has been placed. I squint really tight, and wish that none of this happened, that we could be a happy family again. When I open my eyes, I'm still alone in the small, cold bedroom.

Leave me, Lucifer

I don't recognize my hands. I see the world with bloodshot eyes, everything looks different. I feel possessed by the devil, taken over by Lucifer.

"God, please let him leave me...leave me Lucifer", I pray.

I see a cross hanging sullenly above a church. A surge comes from within, I cannot move. I feel stiff and he raises my arms and turns my hands into claws. My body shakes and I feel a shiver down my spine. I turn my head from the church. I keep walking.

I don't feel love anymore. I am a different person, my soul has been taken over. I wish I knew what happened, for some reason I don't know. I can't pinpoint when he entered me, I just know I went to sleep myself and woke up someone else.

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion,walketh about, seeking whom he may devour" (1 Pet. 5:8)

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