#potentially triggering?

hello, I remembered I wrote this short story for a class last year, I wanted to share it with you guys. Enjoy.

A paper doll does not believe in God. A paper doll who has seen fire does not believe in God. A paper doll that knows the taste of flames licking her insides, that knows the warm feeling of smoke in her veins would never believe in God.

They would later tell me that my Mother and Father were in heaven with Jesus, with God. I asked them if God was so good, why did He let the men burn down our house? Why did He let my Mother and Father, firm believers and true Christians, die in such a hellish way?

They told me to be quiet.

•••

Mother and Father found Jesus together.

Like in a storybook, they were saved by God from the wickedness of Satan. The Bible was their little delicious secret, something to keep under the mattress. The kind of secret you keep in a locket and revisit late at night under the covers.

They shared the secret with me when I was 3 years old.

The concept of God was beyond my small comprehension of the world. God was another story at bedtime, another bonfire tale.

They told me he loved me.

I told them I didn’t know him.

I told them about the way people looked at us. I told them about the way people talked. I told them about all the times the other children would push me and pull my hair and tell me their Fathers were going to “gets us”

They told me God would protect them. I asked them what would happen if he didn’t?

They told me to be quiet.

•••

A paper doll does not believe in second chances. A paper doll can not wring sea water from her bones, can not just shake off her own tears, can not dry without wrinkles being imprinted in her skin.

A paper doll does not forgive.

The ship left while the stars were still out. Fai Zhou held my hand tight, her grip turning my hand white. Cheng, her only son, was on her other side, looking out into the dark ocean.

I could see the dull pain in his eyes.

Fai found me in the mud. After waking up to my Mother screaming my name, I became aware that I had stopped breathing in air, and was now breathing in smoke. It filled my body with ash and decay, and I could feel myself dying. Fire was everywhere. In that moment, I was disintegrating.

The only logical thing to do, I had thought, is to jump out the window.

And that’s exactly what I did.

I don’t remember landing, or twisting my ankle. I don’t remember the sound of my house burning to the ground. I don’t remember the snickers and cheers of the men as they walked away, probably to go burn down our barn.

And I certainly don’t remember hearing my Mother screaming to God.

•••

The boat was small, barely 20 passengers. A group of pale people enjoyed touching my black hair. Another family liked to talk down to me, saying things like “你幾歲?” and “為什麼你的眼睛是這樣的?” and “你的父母死了嗎?”

I didn’t know what they were saying.

One woman looked at Fai and smiled. “這是你的女兒嗎?” she had asked, gesturing towards me. Fai nodded her head, smiling back.

•••

Fai told me that she was my new Mother now. Fai told me Cheng was my new brother. Fai told me that we were going to a place where we can worship God in peace.

I told her there was no God.

She slapped me and told me to go to bed.

When we finally docked, I looked around at all the pale people I had traveled with the last six months. They looked exactly like the sailors pulling in our boat. I looked down at my hands. I had learned few English words from the missionaries trying to “save me”.

One of which was the word 黃色.

Yellow.

I looked down at my small hands, and compared them to the Pale people’s hands.

I was Yellow.

•••

A paper doll withers in sunlight, starts to curl over herself. A paper doll does not last forever. A paper doll can perish if left in unfavorable conditions for too long.

A paper doll can tear.

America didn’t like Yellow. They feared it. They hated it.

They hated me.

They called me “黃色恐怖”, Yellow Terror.

Drawings of men who looked like my Father started showing up outside our door, outside the factory, outside the stores. Drawings of men who looked like my Father shared the same word, the same damned word.

I began to see Yellow everywhere.

I began to hate Yellow.

I began to hate my skin.

A paper doll can tear.

Fai found me on the ground, strips of my skin surrounding me.

So today was practically perfect, even though all the noise is still here and my parents realised I wasn't taking my meds and everything is still horrible, today was actually fairly brilliant. Went to Bocketts Farm and oh my goodness, I want a farm so badly. 

Saw the pigs and the newborn lamb twins and the goats and the cows and horses and chickens and spent time with the dog in the afternoon and Sam absolutely adored her and pushed her on my swing and just was reminded of how beautiful life is as a child.

And things are still really really horrific at the moment, and I will be completely alone in a couple of weeks from now when Millie goes away, but that's okay. Today was pretty amazing. I laughed until I cried and was uncontrollably excited about the pig racing and it was just ah. Boaris Johnson the pig didn't win, but Bradley Piggins did and that's pretty good too. 

It made me pretty sad to see the donkeys and horses so cooped up, but they do get to go out regularly so that's alright and just. I wish every day could be spent in this care-free way. I guess it kind of is. I've just got to work out what it was about today. Because today was genuinely just awh <3

I'm a child, I really am. But without the wonder, without the happiness, and that kind of sucks. But I can be a child if I want to be. I could. I should.