Gretchen Gales
Participation Trophy

You’re knocked out cold. A robber comes along; he needs to hide the treasures he stole.

        I lay on the floor, a prickling sensation bubbles directly under my skin from adrenaline.

First he takes out a sharp, shiny knife and slices it down your arms.

I felt the razor edge of her nails glide over my skin.

He hides hundreds of rubies, emeralds, and diamonds underneath your flesh and sews your arms back up with a needle.

A light pinch and then a sensation of palms pressing themselves into my arms and legs.

You wake up and try to move. You can’t.

The real heaviness is knowing that not seeing High School Musical makes me less valuable at the sleepover, regardless of the gemstones stitched into my skin.

I’d rather sleep next to the toilet than be told I guess you can play for what remains.