The man left approximately a year ago. It was a warm summer’s day, just like today, and it initially seemed as if he was heading off to work. It turned out he wasn’t coming back, and to this day I haven’t seen him, but he’s not the man he used to be. He’s not that affectionate, caring gentleman who would take me to Church every Sunday. He’s not my Da; not any more.
I returned from Saturday school early today because they were closed: there had been a fire the previous night, so instead I went to the local grocery and carried out my normal weekly errand. I came back home expecting lunch to be ready; it normally was by now. It wasn’t today. Ma’s usual beautiful face was replaced by the sobbing yet angry face that I saw every day in the DC Universe comics. She didn’t know I was looking at her because I was staring through the frosted glass.
I stormed into the room with a sense of anger; Ma usually didn’t get upset, so this was a first. She was reading the letters that had been deposited outside. It involved that man. I knew it. I was beginning to drown in a sense of terror and repulse, and with that I too began to fish in the black bag through the letters.
It was horrific. It turns out that he was convicted of burglary and is currently wanted by police. We were also sent fines from the police worth up to £100,000. He couldn’t have done this. He had left a trail of fines and letters in the neighbour’s back shed before he left. They were lies. All his talk of giving money to charity and helping the less fortunate was to fool us. To fool me. To fool the children. To fool Ma.
Nothing else really happened throughout the day; mother lay sobbing in her bedroom, the children lay battling their disease with nothing but a Lemsip shield and a Calpol sword, and my hopes of living a normal life like my friends lay hanging by a thread. Hatred. Fear. Anger. That was all I felt.
Later on in the day I went to the local youth centre: it was the only place where I was gifted with a glint of freedom. Different people from different cultures and backgrounds would come to play football or watch films. The film today was ‘The Return of The Giant Banana.’ It was as exciting as watching ice melt.
That was when it happened.
The door opened and we were greeted by a strong winter breeze, and a man with a silly hat. I recognised the coat. I recognised the awful stench of tobacco. The man lifted his head, and he stared at me. He had a stubble and very neat hair, but his eyes were dead. I immediately recognised who he was. It was him. It was the devil. It was the thing that gave birth to me. I looked at him once. Twice. Three times.
Then I ran.
