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FIRST DAY
When I first sat on the bed, I wondered if she (I suppose it was a she) could differentiate between me and the others, for I was, after all, new. But surprisingly though, she couldn't. Perhaps it was because we all looked the same to everyone else.
I could see her face contorted, angry, and those tears betraying her when she grabbed me and dug her face into me and shrieked. I stared at her, shocked with what this girl was doing. Never have I had anyone scream into me like that; my sole purpose was for head-resting. Some people slammed me or the others against walls, bed posts and others while playing a game(?), true, but this girl seemed to be in a class of her own.
You could feel the waves of agony rippling out of her chest as she screeched like there was no tomorrow. The sounds were supposed to be loud, but all I could hear was the muffled cries of pain. Ah, that is why I was used. To be inaudible. So nobody could understand.
When I was absolutely drenched with her tears on both sides, she wiped her face once more, gulped down a few quick breaths and gathered herself up before opening the door and leaving.
What an odd creature.
A FEW MONTHS LATER
There, there, it's okay; everything will be alright, sshh. Just yell into me and let it all out. There you go, that's a good girl.
It's a habit now, you see; bite your lip, come to the room, lock the door, bury your face into me, scream, cry, punch, just let it out. You can come and sleep on me at night, squeeze out a few more tears if necessary.
That's the way to do it.
AT THE VERY END
I was surprised to how she let everything go. I tried telling myself that she did not have any other alternatives. But, it's me. To anyone else, I was a usable liability for a very short period of time. But to her, things were different.
I knew what she used to do. It was me who was there. I was the one who got heavy because I carried her screams. I used to stay wet with salty tears. I took every punch, every hit. I was there when the metal tore out her skin with a silent creak. I was the one soaked in her blood when she fell, lifeless and unmoving.
She seldom used me for what I was made for, but the secrets that I kept were more memorable. And now that she was gone, the older woman grabbed me and chucked me into a bin, because, well, I was sodden with crimson fluid (of her probable daughter too, if I may add).
Although extremely upsetting, I just might have had the best adventure a pillow could get.
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