Scars that Shine: For Miriah, We Will Not Be Silent
By Alexis Morley | Justice for Miriah Bounds
Two years.
Imagine this—your baby sister calls you, desperate, asking you to come get her. And you do. But when you see her, she’s barely recognizable. The entire left side of her body is bruised. Her nose is busted, her eyes blackened. Behind her ear, deep puncture wounds from where he punched her again and again, driving her earrings into her skin.
This is after a week—an entire week—of him holding her captive in his apartment. He broke her phone, stole every means of escape, cut her off from the world. And on the day she finally got away, he made sure she carried more than just emotional scars. He stubbed out cigarettes on her skin. He hit her, over and over. And when she bled onto his car seat, he screamed at her—"Quit bleeding all over my f*cking car, you dumb b*tch!"
I know all of this because I was the one who bandaged her wounds. I was the one who held her as she finally began to heal.
And yet, healing never got to be her story.
She would later send him pictures of her bruises—the very proof of his violence—as he continued to call, to stalk, to try and force his way back into her life. Screenshots of their conversations still exist, proof of his obsession, his control, his cruelty.
Now, take those injuries, those bruises, and multiply them by ten.
That’s what my sister looked like at her service. Unrecognisable.
Anyone who was there can attest to that. One of the professionals who handled her body—someone who had seen horror before—cried when they described the extent of her injuries. She was beaten. She was drugged. And she was taken from us in the most violent, unforgivable way.
Two years ago today, I woke up to our mother running into my house, screaming that Miriah was gone.
Two years since we lost her.
Two years since we saw her taken from her freshly decorated home in a body bag.
Two years with no charges.
Two years of heartbreak.
Two years of fighting, nonstop, for the justice she deserves.
Two years is two years too long.
Miriah, we will never stop. We will fight until we see justice served. We will fight until the truth is undeniable. We will fight until we see you again.
I love you most, forever.
Today marks two years since I lost my beautiful baby sister. Please, share her story. It only takes one person—the right person—to see it, to pick up her case, to reopen it, to fight for the justice she so rightfully deserves.