Rachel closed her eyes and let the music envelop her, like a weighted blanket. Christmas was a special time of year; it hadn’t always been so. She was 22 years old and all alone in this world. Her parents had died in a car accident 10 years previous, and with no other family, Rachel had been raised in a group home with 10, sometimes 15 other children. The kids had ranged in personality as much as in age, race, and backgrounds.
Rachel tried to keep her head down, making herself as inconspicuous as possible so as not to be the brunt of the rage that seemed to control the teenagers. When she herself became a teenager, she felt the rage rise inside of her, and once even acted on it making a younger housemate cry. She had laughed at the time but that night, alone in her bed she dreamt of the others who had tormented her and wept into her pillow.
In the morning she went to find the young boy she had hurt only to learn he was gone, left in the night, never to return. When something like this happened the adults would say they had moved to a new home; by the time Rachel was 17, she knew these young people were the suicides that often marked the loneliness of the Winter holidays.
Rachel now helped in soup kitchens and other places where she could spread a little Christmas cheer, and more importantly, to her, get some back.
This week’s photo: © © Ayr/Gray
The Unicorn Challenge is a weekly writing challenge, inspired by a picture prompt, with a max word count of 250.
The Day After 