I knew my dad had something to with her death. I blame him for all the violence and sadness she got from him. Where would my sister and I go, and where will we stay? Where do we begin in a life doomed to stray. My mother was the type of mother anyone could wish for. She was full of life, she was my world because she was always their. She was the world to my sister and me. Even though my mother, she could not protect herself, who got beaten nightly by my father. She held a smiling face, despite the life that was given to her. But how could she do any different, we were there.
She struggled day and night to keep us warm. How different it was then than it was from now. I remember the nights she used to sing. I remember the nights I prayed for her safety. My father always thought I was asleep, but I heard him smack her repeatedly. I heard my mother cry, I remember my mother as a good soul. The days passed by, day in and day out. The evidence of pain was plain on my mothers face. Nothing was done about this though, day in and day out it continued. The next night came, and this time the cries and sorrow did not echo all night. My father was a drunk; he came home late again from the bar. I heard the car run over my dog, which was outside going to the bathroom.
He kicked down the door trying to unlock it. The house smelt of liquor, all I could do was cry in the hallway. My father smacked me aside, and continued to march by. He was heading to see my mother. The yelling then shattered the air as I cried softly in the hallway. It did not last though, it muffled to a dull whimper and then into silence. My father ran out then growling in rage, I hide in the closet. My sister was not around; she never awoke in these times. She was afraid, I was brave. The door slammed shut and hard, like it always did the screeching of tires filled the air. I took up my job as man of the house, even though I was only ten. I crept to my mother’s room, and crept to the door slowly open. My dog would be mourned, mourned with my mother. She would tell me what to do; she would make it all better.
My mother was hunched on her back over the edge of the bed. A trail of blood flowed from her head. The blood was emitting from her mouth, eyes and ears. She was dead. I could not scream because the status of being in shock took over. The silence was broken again, my sister was beside me. She brought with her a shriek, a powerful one that did not end until the neighbours came over to see what was wrong. The soul, the mind and the heart of my sister broke that day. Never again would they be repaired. As the police came roaring down the road in the distance I held her close to me.
Even though I held her with love, there was only emptiness inside her head. So many lights flashing in the area and my sister still didn’t do anything. So many had left my life this day, the pain was so hard but I had to endure it. My sister was from now on free from pain. I would never tell her what happened to our father. Nor would I assume she had the mind to hear it. They separated us, and even after she took her life at the age of eight I would never tell her what happened to our father.
Soon came our mother’s funeral, it weather was very dull until everyone showed up. My sister and I did not expect this to happen. When we all gathered up together and the vicar began to start, the sun shone out of the clouds, The light was cautious, as the patronizing beams of radiating glare shined through the atmosphere which forced me to surrender my thanks to God for the outstanding weather especially on this day for my mother’s burial ceremony.
Then I had this flashback of my dad, my father was not my father when he drank, nor was he the best driver. I always thought it was strange how he jack knifed into a greyhound bus, pushing it onto its side on the highway. I never could have imaged so many cars smashing into each other. Even though he was gone from my life, I was not sure I blamed him. I learned when I was older that alcohol affects the mind and turns them into someone they are not. He was lost to me; I did miss him despite everything.
I did not like being in foster homes; I was never liked in school. I always got beat up, they laughed when I never fought back. It always hurt the words they said, I did not understand why my mother’s death would be funny to them. I always walked home alone, I always walked to school alone. I ate alone at lunch and at recess I always hide where they could not find me. I was scared, I did not want to get hurt but I did.
At nights I would sit in my room, my foster parents tried to make me feel comfortable. How could I be? It was only a year before that I lost everyone in my life. Did I want to die? I welcomed the rain pouring outside; I put my warm hand up to the window. The rain distorted what I say out the window, it was a comfort I rarely got to experience. I never told anyone what happened to me in public school, and because I did nothing it carried over into high school. I never tried to make friend, I kept to myself and did what I was told. Thankfully in high school no one cared about me, they were to busy trying to be normal.
I used to sit at the side of the school during my lunch break, right under the pine tree and look into the field at the side of the school. The kids used to smoke there, and I used to watch them from a distance. I knew I wasn’t one of them and I knew my place was of to the distance.
I often wondered what they thought of me, no one paid much attention to me though.
Did I mature to fast in my life? I had to what else could I have done? So alone I sat at school, alone I sat at home. I did my best to be someone who was not noticed.
There in school I saw this boy, well we used to play together as children back where I used to live. He was my neighbour. He finally saw me sitting alone under the palm tree. He told me everything will be ok from now on in school. I believed him. His friendship to me was second only to drugs. Drugs, it was probably the genes I inherited from my father. Before being the popular boy in high school. It is also even harder to find a place to belong. He always did things to seem cool, peer pressure was his weakness. Over the few years our friendship grew greater I watched him slowly disintegrate from drugs.
One day I came back from school to hear that my best mate died as he jumped off the house of his roof, while overdosed on heroin. His mum told me that his neck snapped instantly when it hit the ground and he died before a call for help was even made. During his funeral I sat there and starred at his casket, the words of the priest of the family he belonged to all jumbled in the air. I did not pay attention, my foster parents tried to be comforting. I couldn’t accept their help though; so much was overflowing in my head. I turned around and walked out of the church and walked down the street. I kept on walking right out of town. Where ever I looked, I kept imagining that I could see him. As I looked up into the sky, clouds forming a similar image of my mates face, telling me to stop.
I was in grief, guilt; I decided to move on from my foster parents. I walked for days, ignoring the growls in my stomach; the city was only a hundred and fifty kilometers away. I looked up into the sky the clouds were sailing past like a ship on a river of wind. I stared at a humongous tree standing in my way; the leaves were falling down as if they were crumbles from the food that someone was eating. A mother and a baby walked passed me. The baby wailed like a police siren, it reminded me of my mother and my little sister when she was a baby. I followed them, thinking that they were my mother and sister, despite the thunderous storm around me. I wiped my head and continued walking. Where was I to go, I knew not back to where I came. I left my life there. To me life is meaningless without my mother.
The rain continued for days even after entering the city, I just assumed it was my mum having some joy and laughter which makes her cry. I had some change in my pocket; I decided to send a letter to my caring foster parents. I did this to apologize and thank them for trying to be something I would never get back. I just keep thinking that those who I love end up dead. Is it me to blame, anything I love becomes a disease and die.
I hated life; I was always alone through life and in death. Today it rains, but what will tomorrow bring? I pull something from my pocket the rain thumping and hitting me. No one ever cares, so why should I. I lifted the gun up to my head, tomorrow is not an issue to me anymore. Nor do I care what it will bring, I am alone and no one cares. I pull the trigger and a loud echoing bang is the last thing I hear.
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