Laugh me to bed
Alexandra du Manoir

        I once whispered a secret to my friend while we were hiding under my bed in second grade. There was a ball in my throat, hair in my teeth, and spiders on my skin, so I couldn’t get the words out just right. I still tried. I mumbled, biting my tongue, “I think my mom is possessed.” Sweat trickled down my palms, and dancers were engaging in trapeze routines in my organs. My friend laughed, “That’s not real.” My whole body convulsed, and my tears built up behind my pupil dams, “That’s why we have to hide. She’s coming back soon, and at night, she gets possessed.” I was met with a blank stare. My friend had deep, grey eyes that reminded me of scraping my knee when I was younger. “I don’t believe you,” she shrugged. Smoke seethed through my pores and I screamed, “You wouldn’t know! Your mom never sips from the spirit’s bottle! My mom, she laughs but this horrible, muffled sound comes out and I don’t know- she could be crying. And she tumbles around our house like a clumsy giant!” Somewhere in the void of my home, a door swung open and sent a shiver down our walls. A deep, guttural laugh leaked up through the floor, and I heard a bottle shatter into a thousand little nursery rhymes. 

I'm Alexandra du Manoir, a first-year at Scripps. I've been writing poetry and prose since a young age, and I've had work in various publications.