I hate my grandmother. I hate my mother. Most of all though, I hate
myself. I wish I could just end it all, but I know I will never have the
strength of will to go through with it.
Getting up this morning was worse than usual. The full force of my predicament suddenly hit me and I felt like I had been doused in cold water. My grandmother is always trying to change me. Nothing I do succeeds in gaining her approval. She always tells me that I used to be 'such a happy, bubbly little girl.' She doesn't realise that times have changed, that I've grown up and I'm not five anymore. The fact just seems to be beyond her comprehension. I guess I'll always be a baby in her eyes. Nothing, however, fires up her nagging skills more than my choice of clothing. She's always telling me everything I wear is too dark, too gloomy, too. I don't' even know; I tune out most of the time when she starts talking. She's always trying to give me little 'subtle' hints about changing my clothes, adding a bit of colour. Always a yellow scarf here, or a blue jumper there.
You're think my mother would at least stand up for me every now and again. But she's usually too busy trying to stand up after the two bottles she's had for dinner. My grandmother's greatest achievement (in her eyes) was a bright red cloak she made for me. It was long, clasped at the front and had a hood. She must have devoted hours of work into it. She was so proud of it when she presented it to me, with that smug look on her face. I immediately dyed it black and wore it constantly, out of spite.
I lingered in bed for as long as I could, for though I did not enjoy sleeping all that much, anything is better than being around my mother when she's just woken up.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I dressed as quickly as possible. It was freezing outside and the cold air was leaking in through the numerous holes I had in my walls. I emerged from my room and came face to face with my mother. She already had a bottle in her hand and the dark circles under her eyes were more prominent than usual. She leaned against my door frame, though probably more for balance than intimidation. I asked her what she wanted and received a mumble that slightly resembled 'your grandmother called'. I sighed and pushed past her to the phone.
She had, in fact, called; asking me to go and pick up some material for her from the store. Apparently she wasn't feeling well and couldn't go down herself, but she wanted to finish making some curtains. I contemplated for a moment, and decided I'd rather be running errands for my grandmother than being home alone with my mother. I headed back to my room but was confronted by my mother. She asked me where I was going and I responded with a vague answer; this immediately caused her mood to change and she started yelling about what an unappreciative daughter I was and I never included her in anything. I yelled something back at her, stormed into my room and slammed the door. My temper had risen and I considered adding to my collection of holes in the wall, but I decided against it and took a deep breath instead.
I put on my boots and wrapped my cloak around me. Cautiously opened the door to my room and looked outside. My mother was nowhere to be seen, so I hurried to the front door, eager to depart from my own personal hell. On the way I found my mother, lying on the floor, the empty bottle smashed beside her. This was a regular occurrence in my house and I generally ignored it, so, unphased, I walked outside.
When I came out of the store with my roll of material in a bag, a guy that had been standing next to the building moved in front of my path. He towered over me and looked like he hadn't had a decent meal for weeks. His long, black hair hung in oily strands and his trenchcoat looked like it'd been slept in for months. Although, after looking at him, it was obvious that he would have been quite attractive if someone had cleaned him up a bit.
I greeted him with a smile and continued to walk along while he fell in step next to me. I asked him how he'd known I was in the store and he simply replied with a knowing smile. I knew not to question his actions as I'd never get a straight answer.
We walked along in silence for a few minutes until he looked at me and asked how my life was at the moment. I hesitated for a moment, then started talking. Once the words spilled from my mouth I couldn't stop. I told him everything about my mother getting worse, how I seemed to be having severe mood swings more often than not, and how I wished I could just be taken away from all this. But mostly I talked about my grandmother, and how most of my mother's drinking was her fault. I told him about her constant nagging and the way she made my life a complete hell. I told him everything that had been going through my head over the past few months until I was out of breath and close to tears. He looked at me and paused; for what seemed like hours, and then, with a serious expression on his face. "What if I did it for you. harm her like she harms you. What if I made her scream apologies?" The line seemed oddly familiar, but it made me think. What if . No, the idea was too absurd, too. but why not? Why not indeed.
I looked at him for a minute, though I'm not sure why. Probably to see if he was really serious. Then, without hesitation, I gave a slight nod of my head; barely there, but enough to acknowledge and even agree with his suggestion. I still don't know why I did it, but at the time it seemed right.
We continued to walk, though now in permanent silence. Our destination was five minutes away, but a weight was growing in my heart, and it made the seconds feel like hours. We finally arrived at the house and I went up to knock on the door. A voice from inside asked who it is and I replied. My grandmother opened the door, but the smile she wore on her face turned to a frown when she caught sight of my company. She asked who he was and I told her that he was just a friend who I'd met along the way and asked if we could please come inside. I could see the disapproval in her eyes but she stepped aside and let us in. I put her material on the table and she went into the bedroom to get her purse. I heard a click behind me and I saw the glint of a knife blade. The weight in my chest grew heavier and my stomach lurched. I thought I was going to throw up, but I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. I knew what I had to do. I exhaled slowly as my grandmother came into the room with the money and tried to remain calm. From the corner of my eye I saw him move forward, grasping the knife firmly in his hand. My grandmother didn't see the knife but she stiffened as he moved toward her.
"I smile and walk forward, my arm outstretched to accept the money. I can hear his moving behind me. My grandmother seems to be transfixed; she must have seen the knife. I can sense the terror behind her eyes. I turn around slowly and look straight at him. Determination is obvious on his face and his mouth is set to a straight line. I know nothing will stop him from completing his task now. He passes by me and is a meter away from my grandmother. This is my chance; my only chance. Everything happens so slowly. I see him raise the knife; preparing for the impact, and start to bring it down. This is it. if I don't do it now, then I will never get the chance again. I take a deep breath and I move in front of my grandmother."
Getting up this morning was worse than usual. The full force of my predicament suddenly hit me and I felt like I had been doused in cold water. My grandmother is always trying to change me. Nothing I do succeeds in gaining her approval. She always tells me that I used to be 'such a happy, bubbly little girl.' She doesn't realise that times have changed, that I've grown up and I'm not five anymore. The fact just seems to be beyond her comprehension. I guess I'll always be a baby in her eyes. Nothing, however, fires up her nagging skills more than my choice of clothing. She's always telling me everything I wear is too dark, too gloomy, too. I don't' even know; I tune out most of the time when she starts talking. She's always trying to give me little 'subtle' hints about changing my clothes, adding a bit of colour. Always a yellow scarf here, or a blue jumper there.
You're think my mother would at least stand up for me every now and again. But she's usually too busy trying to stand up after the two bottles she's had for dinner. My grandmother's greatest achievement (in her eyes) was a bright red cloak she made for me. It was long, clasped at the front and had a hood. She must have devoted hours of work into it. She was so proud of it when she presented it to me, with that smug look on her face. I immediately dyed it black and wore it constantly, out of spite.
I lingered in bed for as long as I could, for though I did not enjoy sleeping all that much, anything is better than being around my mother when she's just woken up.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I dressed as quickly as possible. It was freezing outside and the cold air was leaking in through the numerous holes I had in my walls. I emerged from my room and came face to face with my mother. She already had a bottle in her hand and the dark circles under her eyes were more prominent than usual. She leaned against my door frame, though probably more for balance than intimidation. I asked her what she wanted and received a mumble that slightly resembled 'your grandmother called'. I sighed and pushed past her to the phone.
She had, in fact, called; asking me to go and pick up some material for her from the store. Apparently she wasn't feeling well and couldn't go down herself, but she wanted to finish making some curtains. I contemplated for a moment, and decided I'd rather be running errands for my grandmother than being home alone with my mother. I headed back to my room but was confronted by my mother. She asked me where I was going and I responded with a vague answer; this immediately caused her mood to change and she started yelling about what an unappreciative daughter I was and I never included her in anything. I yelled something back at her, stormed into my room and slammed the door. My temper had risen and I considered adding to my collection of holes in the wall, but I decided against it and took a deep breath instead.
I put on my boots and wrapped my cloak around me. Cautiously opened the door to my room and looked outside. My mother was nowhere to be seen, so I hurried to the front door, eager to depart from my own personal hell. On the way I found my mother, lying on the floor, the empty bottle smashed beside her. This was a regular occurrence in my house and I generally ignored it, so, unphased, I walked outside.
When I came out of the store with my roll of material in a bag, a guy that had been standing next to the building moved in front of my path. He towered over me and looked like he hadn't had a decent meal for weeks. His long, black hair hung in oily strands and his trenchcoat looked like it'd been slept in for months. Although, after looking at him, it was obvious that he would have been quite attractive if someone had cleaned him up a bit.
I greeted him with a smile and continued to walk along while he fell in step next to me. I asked him how he'd known I was in the store and he simply replied with a knowing smile. I knew not to question his actions as I'd never get a straight answer.
We walked along in silence for a few minutes until he looked at me and asked how my life was at the moment. I hesitated for a moment, then started talking. Once the words spilled from my mouth I couldn't stop. I told him everything about my mother getting worse, how I seemed to be having severe mood swings more often than not, and how I wished I could just be taken away from all this. But mostly I talked about my grandmother, and how most of my mother's drinking was her fault. I told him about her constant nagging and the way she made my life a complete hell. I told him everything that had been going through my head over the past few months until I was out of breath and close to tears. He looked at me and paused; for what seemed like hours, and then, with a serious expression on his face. "What if I did it for you. harm her like she harms you. What if I made her scream apologies?" The line seemed oddly familiar, but it made me think. What if . No, the idea was too absurd, too. but why not? Why not indeed.
I looked at him for a minute, though I'm not sure why. Probably to see if he was really serious. Then, without hesitation, I gave a slight nod of my head; barely there, but enough to acknowledge and even agree with his suggestion. I still don't know why I did it, but at the time it seemed right.
We continued to walk, though now in permanent silence. Our destination was five minutes away, but a weight was growing in my heart, and it made the seconds feel like hours. We finally arrived at the house and I went up to knock on the door. A voice from inside asked who it is and I replied. My grandmother opened the door, but the smile she wore on her face turned to a frown when she caught sight of my company. She asked who he was and I told her that he was just a friend who I'd met along the way and asked if we could please come inside. I could see the disapproval in her eyes but she stepped aside and let us in. I put her material on the table and she went into the bedroom to get her purse. I heard a click behind me and I saw the glint of a knife blade. The weight in my chest grew heavier and my stomach lurched. I thought I was going to throw up, but I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. I knew what I had to do. I exhaled slowly as my grandmother came into the room with the money and tried to remain calm. From the corner of my eye I saw him move forward, grasping the knife firmly in his hand. My grandmother didn't see the knife but she stiffened as he moved toward her.
"I smile and walk forward, my arm outstretched to accept the money. I can hear his moving behind me. My grandmother seems to be transfixed; she must have seen the knife. I can sense the terror behind her eyes. I turn around slowly and look straight at him. Determination is obvious on his face and his mouth is set to a straight line. I know nothing will stop him from completing his task now. He passes by me and is a meter away from my grandmother. This is my chance; my only chance. Everything happens so slowly. I see him raise the knife; preparing for the impact, and start to bring it down. This is it. if I don't do it now, then I will never get the chance again. I take a deep breath and I move in front of my grandmother."