Carmen knows her secret (torresdedios) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-05-12 20:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | kevin tran |
Who: Carmen Torres, solo
What: Carmen reflects her parent's death on Mother's day
When: Today, Sunday, May 12
Where: Her apartment
Warnings/Summary: Mention of her parents' murders, so don't read if something like that would bother you or any feelings that might come as an after-effect of such thoughts. You've been warned!
Fifteen years. It had been fifteen long years since she'd witnessed her parents being killed from the back of a truck after her mother had placed here there, securing her and her siblings' roads to freedom. She knew she shouldn't have looked back. Her older siblings weren't, almost as if they'd understood what was happening. But she'd only been eleven. Eleven years old. And she didn't want to leave her country, her parents. She'd looked. And there were many parts of her that regretted her choice to look back.
What she'd seen was something she could never erase from her memory no matter how much she tried. Oh, and she'd tried. She'd joined sports, focused on studies, then later buried herself in her work to try to take her mind off the memories that haunted her. But nothing worked. She could still hear the gun shots ring loudly in her ears, clear as day as if it had happened just moments before. As a girl of eleven, she hadn't realized what it had meant then. Oh, she was no stranger to that kind of violence. Deaths and other things similar happened frequently in their border town. But...it hadn't hit home until she'd been safely sequestered in Reno, Nevada.
Her mother was gone. Her role model. Her mother was the one who had taught her everything. From her first words, to tying her shoes, to...well, to everything. It wasn't her mother's birthday that effected Carmen so badly. Birthdays were special, yes, but to most of the world, that anniversary was just another day. It was this day when Carmen could go outside and see everyone sitting with their mothers. And she knew that she never would again.
The young Mexican girl who had learned an American accented English to keep herself from being found out sat now on the sofa of her apartment, the television turned off and she just sat in the dark. What could she do? She wanted to cry, but no tears would come. Had she already cried all the tears that she could?