“The Wailing Woman” by Anonymous Teen
The dinner table was set, and joyful music softly filled the background silence. As everyone exchanged gentle greetings and took their seats, the warmth of a home-cooked meal, prepared over hours, promised a delightful evening with family. My grandparents, eager to see me after my return for the break, repeatedly inquired about my school life—how it was going, if I was still friends with a certain girl, and whether I had a boyfriend. We bowed our heads to pray, expressing gratitude for the cherished moments spent together.
Suddenly, something caught my eye behind the kitchen curtains. “Can you see her when you look out the window?” I asked, but no one seemed to notice. A figure, shrouded and solitary, stood outside, peering in with a broken smile. The rain poured heavily, the sky was dark with clouds, and the wind howled fiercely. As the storm raged on, her silence became an eerie contrast to the chaos around her. Desperation clouded her mind, and in her isolation, she wailed in anguish, her cries swallowed by the storm. The cold and darkness mirrored her inner turmoil. Despite her efforts to find warmth and connection, she was met only with solitude and pain. She screams, but no one hears her. Desperate in her loneliness, she cried out. The wailing sound of her voice makes me shudder. She is me, and I am alone in the gutter.
Her mind is so loud. She has no sense of direction. She has friends who love her, but she feels no affection. This melancholy state; The demons inside her are just waiting to get out. Begging and crying, pleading to be released. Who is this girl? She has no face. She is a wandering soul, drafting up the place. Loud like a banshee, she screams and cries, only to shrink smaller, dividing in size. “Are you okay? You look distraught." She was trying to repress the things she’d been taught. Her laughter unreal, a prisoner in her own skin, she forced herself to smile, trying to blend in. An emotional shapeshifter, like that of a chameleon; she’s done this before; why is she here again? She bellows sorrowfully, hoping to be seen. “Why can’t they hear me?” Her screams are so loud—what a vicious shriek. What did the banshee want? What forced her to speak? Her voice bellows, piercing my ears, as she tries to warn me of my worst fears. An omen of death, for this I am certain, but what could this be? The death of my passion, the loss of me? Who is she, and why am I the only one who hears? She is my inner voice, and she holds all of my tears.