Speak

by Laurie Halse Anderson

We lived in a different house then, a smaller house. Mom worked at the jewelry counter and was home after school. Dad had a nicer boss and talked all the time about buying a boat. I believed in Santa Claus.

This made me so sad. These differences are seen through a child’s eyes and really made me feel for the loss of innocence. It would be so much more simple to go back to the times where you didn’t notice the bad stuff happening because you didn’t know any better.

I have to slice open her belly. She doesn’t say a word. She is already dead. A scream starts in my gut—I can feel the cut, smell the dirt, leaves in my hair.

It is getting harder to sleep at home. How long would it take for the nurses to figure out I don’t belong here? Would they let me rest for a few days?