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Leaving Home

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Anoopa Panesar Leaving Home 25/04/05 It was the last time I saw my Mother. My grieving pain for my mothers love infinitely grew. She was god in my eyes but was I the god given daughter she had hoped for? Everyday I had run to her absorbing her warmth as I wrapped my long limbs around her waist. The waist that had carried me for nine months, but was I worth the wait? Mother's predictable great force would transfer into my weakened bones forcing me to collapse onto the striped wooden floor. I would land with a thud hoping that the chances of me receiving a hug the next day would increase. Maybe my accidental escape was for the best. Perhaps I was destined for this moment, this was fait in the palms of my hand, waiting for me to reach out and snatch the opportunity. Mother had snatched my rights to live as a normal human being away. It was forbidden for me to even talk to her. I needed permission. I told my self through every breath that everything would end up right, I was right. Rain, rain everywhere. Summer had died out, until next year. Autumn had approached me. ...read more.


Before the argument I had thought of Mother's voice as a relaxing tone, music being played from a magical flute that only she could master. Then the tables had turned. My voice seemed as sweet as sugar compared to mothers. Hers was now flat and dull. The lifeless mono-tone wasn't Mother at all. It was as if a Hoover had vacuumed out the energy, the encouragement, the enthusiasm. I thought that the past argument was normal for all married couples until it became a trend. To see physical fighting would be less painful than my pain. It felt as if a needle had attempted to pierce its way through my heart but got stuck leaving never ending pain. The trend became daily. The light ore around both my parents, especially Mother, had faded into the dark shadows. As everyday passed the hatred between the two grew and grew. Mother's once soft, tanned skin mounted with make up for affect had altered to a yellow, pale colour. I preferred Mother without make up but it was far better then seeing Mother like this. She didn't even attempt to make her self look better. You could tell by the way that she lounged around the house that she was too lazy to even care. ...read more.


Mother had rescued me from injury. The memories were so fresh in my mind. It was as if it were yesterday. As I opened the door, the invisible wind flew in and out of my ears sending shivers up and down my spine as if an elevator were traveling to different floors. I would stand there shivering, imagining myself in Mothers arms. The whole of my Indian coloured skin would cover in goose bumps, each individual one containing a hair all stood up equal sized looking like they were under commandment in an army. My first step onto the African rug could have been my last. I wished. My long legged limbs would co-operate together so I could travel to where I wished to travel. They were under my instructions. I reached the pavement on the sides of the roads. As the first car lead the rest my heat rotated at a ninety degree angle to the right. No cars in sight. As I reached mid point in the road an internal feeling of sickness approached me. I looked down to find no blood. My consciousness was fading vastly. As I tried to demand my legs to get up they laid there lifelessly. I blinked once, the blue sky. I blinked twice, half the sky. I blinked 3 times, nothing... ...read more.

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