Title: Hey There Delilah
by MissPrettynPurple from London | in writing, fiction, playwriting
Delilah a dark-skinned teenage girl sits at her dressing table, staring at herself in the mirror.
It usually takes up to a minute for people to stereotype you. Thatâs all we get a minute.
I guess thatâs why mother works so hard to make me fit for society.
Weâre all equal.
Thatâs what Mrs. bridges tells us all the time, she says we should love ourselves the way we are. Every young lady is charming, amazing, resourceful, beautiful, divine, witty, short, tall, fat and skinny in her own way.
Weâre all differently the same.
But weâre not. When I told mother what she said; mother exclaimed âDonât you believe a word that woman says!â Which is quite hard considering she is my English teacher. Mother conveyed a little piece of advice to me âdarling listen to me people donât like other people for who they are, they like them for who they pretend to be.â Wouldnât you say motherâs advice is more realistic? When mother dies at the age of 210, at her funeral I can I say âmy mother give really realistic advice. Bye.â
I wonder what our mathâs homework is? I would know if Michelle hadnât keep going on about public schools.â kids in public schools steal cars, eggs houses and throw food!â When I inquired how she knew this was true she replied, âI watch channel 4 documentaries!â I donât know how that answers my question but I couldnât be bothered to talk to her anymore. So I just smiled. Anne hated Michelle.
Delilah gets up, walks to her wardrobe. Contemplates wearing the brown or the black dress.
She looks over to the red party dress her grandmother got her for Christmas.
âRed is for clowns, whores alongside the Indians.â Mother loves to discuss the faults and strangeness of the Indians. Considering she is darker than any Indian I have ever met and her thoughts just as strange. I think I should be able to wear red.
But Iâm not.
Fade to black
Delilah is sitting at a long table with her mother and father. Looks up at the wall where the family portrait uses to be.
It is illogical to have such a long table for four people. Well itâs 3 now. I remember when Anne and I were little and we would hold hands under the table while eating dinner. The warmth from her hand expelled motherâs arctic words and judgment. I remember when father had human characteristics.
Anne was able to rebel! She knew how to deal with people. She knew how to command attention.
I want her back.
They took her away. They put her in the taxi, told me she wasnât part of this family anymore.
âPregnant tart acting like she didnât come from a proper homeâ exclaimed mother for weeks. Anne didnât get kicked out for getting pregnant; she got kicked out for being human. This was a person with real opinions, thoughts and a brain god gave her to use. Imagine how much every fibre of your being must hurt when: you are given a list of people who should be your friends; when another person has been picking your clothes for the last 15 years; they even get to decide whether or not you keep your baby.
âPeople donât like other people for who they are, they like them for who they pretend to be.â What about me! Does what I think not matter, does the fact that I resent her with all my being mean nothing. So many times I have imagined my mother dropping dead many times. I donât like you for who you are. Which is funny cause Iâm turning into you.
Ha-ha yes! I have no real worth, my sister held the real value of the family. But she went haywire so you tried to fix up the other one.
Delilah is sitting on a bed that is not her own. In a room we have never seen before.
I wonder what their going to do when they realize I'm not pregnant.
A representation of a time and a place in every teenagers life