Teela Hart

Surviving Domestic Violence


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I Moved On


My bare skin pressed into the unyielding, cold steel of an uncertain world. Nothing to cover the nakedness but a thin veil of shame, my eyes rejected the evil that so desperately coveted the death of my soul. I could smell the color of his vile presence, the stench of green vapor hypnotized and paralyzed.

green vapor

green vapor

The scent of a vulgar haze of hatred streamed from his nostrils. His eyes smelled black, soulless, and empty. His lips held the odor of a parched desert as waterfalls of perdition flowed unhindered. Moments before he fled to the abyss, his viscous carcass further depressed me into the resistant steel of this world I had come to know.

His presence retreated, however, his color persisted and my eyes remained unmoved.

A faint sound in the distance permeated the air, a sweet sound of people talking, laughing, and living. I had to find them in the world unknown to me. My overwhelming desire to find them, to beg them for help, to plead for mercy would override the evil that lurked. Covered with the thin veil of shame I made my way toward the sound in the world beyond my own. I turned the knob opened the door and screamed for help, however, my pleas went unanswered.

Therefore, I moved on.

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