Victoria Amador '25
She's always been lucky; you can see that.
Her report card just came in, she's doing so well now. Her teacher's comments say she should participate more. Speak up. They would love to hear her voice. She knows they must be spies, undercover Asteroids waiting for her to mess up. She knows they all lie.
65 million years ago, the reign of the dinosaur ended. The Asteroid's reign continues.
She went to her first day of school a fresh faced five year old. Wearing a navy skirt and sky blue polo uniform, with long knee high socks on. Her hair was in a ponytail. She was smiling. Her heart was not pounding, for she had not learned to be nervous. No anxiety plagued her, she didn't even know how to read that word. She had never heard the words stop, shut up, or no, she did not speak english. She was so excited to go to school.
In school, she felt the thrill of accomplishment for the first time.The thrill of being right. Being smart. Being first. Being strong. The girl raised her hand, up up up. She wanted to touch the sky. She did not know the sky would touch her instead.
Then, the little girl stopped being called on. The teachers said, you talk too much little girl. Not you. Never you. Too much you. Anyone but you answer, they told her.
The 165 million year reign of the dinosaur came to an end.
Now, she is just a girl.
A girl in class, paying attention, knowing the answer, going into the advanced class. But the girl does not talk. The girl just listens. The girl is not called on. The girl says nothing. The girl doesn't breathe loudly. She doesn't like standing up to go to the bathroom because her chair scraping against the floor makes a terrible screeching noise. It sounds like a dinosaur.
Dinosaurs were too loud. Their steps were too strong. Their power was too big for this world. That's why they had to be burned. God knew they were too strong, too big, too much for the world. The other lesser animals could not keep up, so He killed them. She hates dinosaurs too. She has been taught to hate them. To look down on them. Why would anyone want to be a dinosaur when you could be a regular animal just like everyone else?
Secretly, the girl had always felt a pull to the dinosaurs. She wanted to look up to them. Admire their strength. Imitate them. But she never voiced her thoughts, she did not use her voice.
I know I am lucky.
They saved me before the Asteroid heard me.
Thank you to my kindergarten teacher. Thank you to the first grade one, and the second and the third. Thank you for guiding me. For stalling my growth before I became a terrible dinosaur. Before I became too big, too strong, too much. Now, I fit comfortably in my classroom. In the world. When I walk, no one looks up. My steps are quiet. I leave no tracks behind. When I am gone from the world there will be nothing to remember me for, just silence. I hope to go peaceful and pleasant. I am a flutter. I am a thought inside your head that will never make it out. I am just a girl.
I hate my thoughts. I hate that I can't control them. I hate that they scream loud and unapologetic. They are too loud, too strong, too much. They should apologize. Like I apologized when they told me I shouldn't raise my hand. Like I felt guilty for talking. Like I learned to shut up.
If I could stop my hearts beating, my lungs breathing, and my thoughts being, I would. Then I would be perfect. Perfectly silenced.
They never saw it coming. I never saw it coming. We never saw it coming. You say if you saw an Asteroid hitting down on earth, you'd run. What if they told you it was a pretty light? A firework. A miracle. A salvation. What if they told you it was okay? Don't say anything. Don't flee. Don't hide. Embrace it, they said. Your flesh is being flayed and your heart is breaking and your soul is crumbling, but it's all okay. You're sorry you're in pain. You apologize for screaming. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!
Light me up, I pray. Then it will all be quiet.
I am a good student. I have listened to what I've been taught. I am lucky to have been saved so young.
I’ve always been lucky; you can see that.