II: Prologue

My name is Elle. It’s not my real name, but it’s the name that I went by when everything happened. I can’t tell you my real name.

This is where I’ve chosen to tell my story — the story that I don’t talk about. The one that hardly anyone in my current life knows.

It might not come out in order. It will be explicit, graphic, and definitely not safe for people under the age of 18. There will be rape, abuse, sex, violence, fear, faith, honesty, innocence, religion, loss, hurt, G-d, suffering, death, lies, witchcraft, and trust. You will learn about the people that you see on street corners, the girls who take off their clothes on stage, and the beautiful women who are paid escorts. People that you may have seen if you live in Houston; people that you may know.

I don’t know how much or how detailed I’m going to write. I may leave some aspects out. There may be some years of my life that I cover that don’t have a single mention of some consistent component that was actually there, and you’ll never know. I will go back and edit things so that they make more sense — words, phrasing, grammar. I may choose to go back and tell more of that particular story.

Whatever happens, my secrets will be laid bare. Not a single person who knows me knows that I’m writing this. I’ve decided that the people I trust to tell are people like you; people that I don’t know. I don’t know why, or what triggered it, but I’ve finally come to the point where somebody needs to know. Years went by and I couldn’t talk about it. Until now.

Comments
  1. Joshua Kincaid says:

    understandable! memories are the hardest thing to forget

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