More than once, I told my father, // I was afraid to go home.
I have to pass // through fences that only thin children can squeeze through,
Walk through dense forests, // and paths between fallen trees.
At dusk, around five-thirty, // there are no streetlights, no bricks on my path,
No small paths with barking dogs.
Each time, my heart races wildly.

Sweat soaks from my head into the back of my fur coat, // my clothes.
I can't even hear the sound // of the running stream ahead.
The dense forest Is like tall, // pitch-black shadows, clinging to roadside stations,
Avoiding all roadsides, // walls, and streetlights along the streets.
There is only fear here.

They seem to stand in the forest,
Watching me go home, go to school,
Day after day, from morning till night,
Lurking in the darkness to observe me.
More than once,
I've brought it up with my mother, // but she only let me shut up,
Talking about imaginary friends, // psychological problems,
Puberty, rebellion... I know // it's not like that.
They're just there, // watching my parents argue.
I've talked with teachers about it.
In return, there's always a lesson:
I'm sick, I can't see them, // I have a mental illness.
I repeat, repeat again, // repeat to myself, this is not real.

Father told me that my mother is already sick, // mental illness.
She stares at the candle fire // and talks to herself.
As soon as they face each other, // they argue.
I hide in the next room, // against the wall.
I hear them blaming each other,
I hear shouting and cursing.
Then it suddenly ends.

They come out holding hands,
But there are no expressions // on their faces.
So calm,
Quietly looking at each other, // mechanically walking out.
Mother walks to the kitchen,
Brings out the dinner she's prepared.
Father sits on the sofa,
Opening the tattered, // grasp newspaper next to him.

The shadows,
They stand outside the window.
I shouldn't have seen them.
They observe everything.

There's no sound at dinner.
I want to ask, but I don't dare.
I'm not allowed to make any sound.
Whatever follows is training, // shaming,
Saying I shouldn't be like a pig, // making sounds,
Being like country folk, farmers.
I don't dare to go home, // I don't want to go home.
I walk on the path // between the trees.
This road is extremely long.
I hear singing coming from the forest.
My grandmother once told me,
Those children who walked // into the deep forest never came back.

I look back, there's nothing,
Except for those eyes.
I know they are there.
Here.