To be honest, when I’ve worked through the hardest-to-swallow experiences, writing has been my solace. Truly, I’m sitting here thinking about all the bare, vulnerable writing I’ve done, and despite the difficulty of putting my pain on paper, I’ve only ever felt lighter afterward. During my time studying abroad in Europe, within the span of one week and three countries, my outlook on love, heartbreak, violence, sexual assault, advocacy, pacifism, trauma, and healing shifted. That’s without even getting into my newfound perspective on culture shock, which I gravely struggled with during my first few weeks in France. Writing this fiction short story, lifted chains off my neck, freeing me from the tortured prison of rumination and memory. In the past, much of my most personal pieces take on the form of creative non-fiction or a personal narrative.  Mako Disco, my (long) short story is one of the first times I’ve allowed myself the luxury of transcending my personal experience into fiction, leaving space for my most painful moments to become the plot of a girl who isn’t me. Fiction places the characters, in the driver's seat, liberating me from the burden of recollection. I don’t know if I can explain it in a way that makes sense to someone who isn’t a writer, but no matter the pain of writing, after, there is always release. 

That said, and to make very clear, the following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people is entirely coincidental. 

TRIGGER WARNING: Depictions of sexual assault.