Fractured Heart
Was there a missing persons poster?
Did they hold a funeral for me?
Do I have a tombstone with my ‘death’ date?
For years those thoughts ran through my mind, wondering and hoping that they would somehow know I didn’t die that night. I used to dream that they would find me and break down the door to my prison and set me free but that was a pipe dream.
Even if they did find me, they wouldn’t be rescuing the person they thought I was, she died fourteen years ago when that car went over the bridge.
I’ve listened, learned, and endured for years. They may break my body and use me as their doll to get themselves off but they can’t break my mind. That is the one thing I won’t allow them to touch, they think I’m a stupid doll and know nothing but they’re wrong. They’re too busy making sure no one comes to break me out but what they never expected was for me to rescue myself and claim my freedom.
I’m no longer Waverly Bronson, I am Doxy Da Luca.
Pages
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59