Chapter Two

Hide and Seek

Long enough time had passed since I went out on the canoe. I knew it wasn't quite dinner time yet, but I didn't have the guts to stay out that long. I didn't quite have the guts to stand up to my dad on one of his off days, (which almost every day was), and tell him that I didn't want to come for dinner. No…I wasn't that strong. In fact, most of my strength was internal. I felt my power, and I felt my courage…but it didn't show. Sometimes that's not a bad thing, but other times it's that fine line between standing up for yourself and letting it eat you up. Most days, it ate me up. It ate me up fast, and I didn't hold back.

Despite all that, today had been different. It had been a day that made me almost smile and be thankful for what I had. It was a strange feeling, eerie. The red sky was turning dark, and it made me feel romantic. I thought about what this day might mean for the rest of my life. It had been good; it had been a good day. Even though my morning didn't start out so hot, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. My siblings weren't mean to me, but as I looked back on it, they were teasing me. It made me wonder if my siblings were starting to reach a level of tolerance for me. I dreamed that they even loved me.

No matter what my family thought, today had been a fulfilling day. I had gotten several concrete chapters in my novel. I had been able to take long walks through the woods to spur my inspiration, and I had been accompanied by the innocent songs of the mockingbird. Taking a nap underneath the trees and finding beautifully round stones in Mystic Creek had made this day a mark of change. It seemed that as this day had been lovely, my life might start to head in that direction too.

I took long and steady strokes up the river. The sun was starting to descend upon the hills, and I knew it was just the right time to head home. I hit sand, and I pulled the canoe up out of the crisp water and behind a series of bushes. I held my writings of the day for Paper Wings, and I was pleased. I was proud of myself. It wasn't often that I had pride in something I worked on. But my day had been pretty good so far. Despite my rough morning, it seemed like things had fallen into place. I dried off, and set out to my house.

I saw the long fields that led up to my house. There was a smattering of trees in our acreage, ones that I had spent my childhood determined to climb. I felt the cool, green grass beneath me. The earth was soft, almost as if molding to my every want.

I wasn't far off when I heard it. It had already begun, and so early. I could hear my father screaming, and my mother crying. My younger siblings were squealing, and I pictured them running away from my father, angry and drunk. Reality set in and ruined my perfect day. 'Another night…another night,' I muttered. My feet slowed, my mind absentmindedly stalling the abuse to come. I ran the blades of grass in between my toes and plucked them. My dad wasn't the kind of father who just left the house when he was drunk and crazy; he stuck around and took it out on us. He took his fury out on his children; the only people in his life who should mean something to him. My siblings and I had no one to stick up for us. When one of us cried and ran to our mother, she pushed them away because she feared for her own life.

My mom feared for her own life above her children. Although she had been in this mess of a marriage for longer than we had had it as a father, I was ashamed of her. When the beatings went on, I couldn't bear to look at her just standing there. Sometimes I imagined who I was…how embarrassed and angered I was at my parents, but they are my parents. How could I get stuck with them? How could I be a product of such hatred?

I heard Nick's scream above the rest. I cringed. 'Nicky…' I shook my head and grasped my hands. I couldn't take this anymore. I was old enough to understand my dad had problems, and I was old enough to know that it wasn't me or my siblings' faults.

I wasn't too far off from the house, but I still had a ways to go. The grass lawn that was our backyard stretched for a while, but I had a clear view of the house. My feet slowly trudged through the thick grass, kicking at weeds. I tried to push all sound out of my ears, and then I heard it.

The shot.

A single shot rang through the air, like the beat of a drum. I stopped right where I was. My arms and legs tightened, and I froze. My mind urged me to run, but I couldn't bring myself to move. My breathing came fast, too fast. Then I heard it.

The scream.

It was just as bad as the shot, almost worse. It was high pitched and bloodcurdling, and I knew immediately knew it was my mother. A shiver ran up my back, and my feet took control of my mind. I ran. I ran past my canoe. At first I was just running along the river, but then for some reason, I ran towards it. The water splashed up as my feet hit the creek's bed. I was going to run as far as I could go. I ran from my house. My feet, wet and dirty from the ground, had no feeling as I set my mind on the farthest point that I could see. I was running away. I didn't need to think; it came natural. I found myself running faster than I ever had, more than I thought I could. I ran for as long as I could, and I didn't see it until I ran into a fence.

I had never seen it before, and if I had been thinking clearly I wouldn't have ever remembered seeing it before in my walks in the words. It was just about then when I could hear another shot in the distance. I could tell that the noise was coming from somewhere closer to me than from my house. I started to scream, but no sound came out. I coughed, panting and gasping for air. I cried profusely, unable to stop. I ran along the fence, trying to find a gap. I ran, looking about me, frightened. I couldn't find a gate, so then I climbed. I climbed up the wire fence, trying to get to the top that seemed so far away. I fell, again and again, hitting the ground like a dead body. I then heard some loud noise, but not the sound of a gun. It was like a door bursting open, but louder. This caught my attention, but I didn't look back. If it was my father, coming to destroy the evidence that was me, I didn't look. This time, my strength came. If it was out of fear or determination, I didn't know. I was still crying, but this time I grasped the fence and started placing my feet in the wiring. I pulled myself over the top, and fell several feet onto the ground on the other side. My shirt had been torn from some rusted wires, and I was bleeding from cuts, but I had no time to notice. I was running from my life, I was running from all my fears, and doubts. I wasn't going back.

I never wanted to go back.

So I just kept running.

She was face down in the dirt. 'This doesn't hurt,' she told herself. She tried to forget, erasing everything from the past few hours out of her memory. 'Nothing had happened….nothing,' but her attempts fell flat. She grabbed her head and covered her ears, trying to forget where she was and what had gone on. This time, she wanted out. This time she wanted out for good. She had nobody, nothing to live for anymore. Not even her work; she didn't deserve the talent. It was a curse.