Sylvia Wynter's Dream

By Kelli-Rae Francis | Writing Prompt | November 10, 2023

Just when I thought nothing could be worse than going to Hell, I return there only to be proven wrong. Why’d I have to go and break the promise I made to myself on that very joyous evening? The promise to never return to the place that caused me so much pain.

As I stepped out of my car parked in the sea of cars at the Mona Preparatory School, all of the once forgotten memories flooded my brain like a tidal wave. 

The sight, sound and roughness of the gravel rubbing against the bottom of my shoes transported me back to that horrific race during my third grade Physical Education class. The race that left me with numerous physical scars.  

“On your mark, get set, go!” shouted Mr Whose Name I Can’t Remember.

Next thing I knew we were off and I was in the lead. But not for long! One moment I was running and feeling on top of the world and the next, something hard crashed into me at full speed, pushing my body about three feet before I hit the ground hard. The surface was so rough that my skin coming into contact with it sounded and felt like paper being sanded.

Can you believe that the guy I was racing, who was at least twice my size, ran straight into me?

As I opened my eyes, all I saw was red. Literally and figuratively. Blood dripped from my nose, chin, elbows and knees onto the gravel. The injuries left scars that slowly started fading along with my memory of the incident. 

The sound of the children on the playground woke me from my flashback and returned me to reality. Seeing them laugh so hard that they held their stomachs and struggled to remain upright, took me back to dark times when I would be the centre of many unfunny jokes. 

The music room, filled with an assortment of brand new instruments including pianos, guitars, violins and cymbals, reminded me of my time in the school band. Oh how I missed the sweet sound of the instruments harmonising beautifully. That was the only good memory to come from this school visit. 

As I stood on their makeshift stage, I remembered the time I joked about wanting to be a singer and was told that I wasn’t pretty or talented enough. Didn’t know being pretty was part of the job description. 

Despite the little reminders , it wasn’t until I walked through the bathroom door, which looked like it had been through a storm and back, that I ended up in another trance. I had retrieved another memory that made being back feel like Hell on Earth. The negative comments about their peers that were plastered on all the walls really hit a nerve. However, it was the sound of a girl’s muffled sobs from inside one of the stalls that felt all too familiar. 

When she walked out and I noticed the cuts on her wrists was when my heart really sank to the pit of my stomach. Mainly because I saw my former self in her. There in front of me stood an even more traumatised and hopeless replica of 10 year old Kelli. 

That’s when it all became too overwhelming. The room began to cave in and my heart raced at what felt like lightning speed. At that moment, the feeling of regret flooded my body. 

Who knew finally remembering could hurt this much?