Monday, September 8, 2014

We Knew Better

This past weekend I had two things that stuck out in my mind that I wanted to write about. Then I decided to combine them.

First, I had an assignment to write for Creative Writing. We had to write a horror/thriller story or poem using the first person pronoun "we" as the subject. It was supposed to be somewhat repetitive with a specific line. This is difficult for me, because I'm not a horror/thriller type of person. Therefore, I was going to originally vent about my difficulties being creative in that way.

Second, I have a friend who went out to a party this weekend. Let's call her Jane. When she finally got brought back here, we laid Jane on another friend's futon for the night. I ended up staying up all night taking care of her and making sure she was still breathing while she slept. That's just the inner mother in me that wanted to make sure she was okay. So I was going to talk about that experience.

Then, I decided I could combine these two instances. I could use the story of Jane's night and twist the details around to make it a horror poem for my Creative Writing assignment. As I was writing this poem/story, I got emotional. I completely changed the story of Jane's night into a horrific situation that I would hate to happen to anyone, especially my closest friends. Without further ado, here is the final product that I turned in for class; it's titled, We Knew Better.

Note: I apologize in advanced for some of the language in this to those it may offend.

We knew better. Frat parties have a bad reputation. Two twenty year old girls should stay away. We knew.

We knew better. That bottle should have lasted two nights. We drank it in an hour.

We knew better. That guy wanted more than our opinion of the drink. We knew. We drank it anyway.

We knew that wasn’t the living room. It was his room. We knew it wasn’t the couch. It was his bed.

We knew better.

We knew it wasn’t funny. But he was laughing. He was entertained.

We knew we should have left at that moment. Right when he brought out the rope. We knew better.

We knew we didn’t ask for it. We knew we didn’t consent. But he forced us to believe we did. We knew.

We knew we weren’t any of the names he called us. His sluts. His whores. His. We knew better.

We knew no one would believe us. He’s the big man on campus. He can do no wrong. We knew he would be innocent in their eyes. We knew better.

We knew we couldn’t tell anyone the next morning. We had to keep it to ourselves. We had to live with the secret of that night for the rest of our lives.

We knew better.

 Note: The events in the poem are completely made up. They have not happened to my knowledge. 
Now you can see why I got emotional while writing this poem. I would feel horrible if something like this were to happen to anyone, let alone my best friends. If you know of someone this has happened to, do not keep it to yourself. Tell someone. Get the victim the peace and justice they deserve. Save a life. 

Until next time,

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