A Name for Change

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Lillith befriends one she thought was an enemy- a being named Change.

Chapter 1

Crossing

"Lillith is an Arabic name for change," she told me, her voice mellifluous and gentle, laced with a faded accent. I loved to just sit and listen to her stories, never minding the time passing or things to be doing. I usually am a very stressed person, worrying about what and when. But not with Abra. She was behind me, working away with shears."Why are you cutting your beautiful blond hair?" she asked.

I sighed, the calm and content replaced by memories and the familiar anxiety. "Because I'm running."

"Continue."

"I don't like change. Change means things getting worse. Every time something changed the darkness got darker. The pain got stronger."

"Everything always changes. At every moment. Running is change, too."

"I'm running away from change. I'm running from everything." I stood up, handed Abra a crumpled bill, hugged her, and walked out of the shop.

I headed home, and much too soon I reached my destination. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and walked inside. A man was standing in the hall; he was familiar yet so foreign to me. I knew the man, but I didn't know him at all.

"Lillith," he said, his voice seemingly calm but dripping with controlled rage, "I noticed ten dollars missing."

"Dad-"

"ENOUGH!" He screamed, advancing towards me. I was slightly relieved at the yell. He is much less scary when he is obviously enraged. The quiet fury is terrifying. As I thought this, he slapped me across the face, hard and into the wall. I knew to stay upright, so I did, until he kneed me in the midsection and bashed my head down, throwing me to the floor. I groaned and tried to roll away from the blow I knew was coming, but I was dazed and a foot landed firmly in my ribcage. Again and again he kicked, both of us screaming. He yelled about my newly chopped of hair, my disobedience, and her. My mom. How I was the sole reason she left, therefore the cause of his misery. Hate was what escaped his lips, and it poured onto me and mingled in my injury, enhancing the pain. Finally it was over, and he stomped out of the house.

I crawled to my room and lay in bed until I felt I could move. Slowly rising, I made it to my tiny closet and grabbed the pre-packed bag I stowed there. Changing into clean clothes I bought yesterday with stolen money, I dressed and looked like a normal teenager. New pixie-cut, a soft scarf, striped tank-top, and jeans, I was brand new. Until you looked closely and saw the bruises.

I stepped out of the house, looking around, then straightening. I will not be afraid of him, I willed, the mindset the biggest change. With a straight back and high head, I looked confident, and I started to feel it. I marched down the sidewalk feeling a new sensation. A group of motorcycles passed by and I crossed the street with them, stepping onto a new block. I felt a cool breeze, and suddenly I knew things would be okay.

An Arabic name for change. I always feared change, but without it, how is life going to get any better? Those in set ways may live longer, but they never really live. Life is filled with pain, but I believe it is a setup to make joy even happier. Just let change take you.

After crossing that street, I hardly looked back, and I was never abused again.

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