He found me huddled over the body, my father that is. And I'll never forget
what the first blow felt like. The adrenaline rushed through my body and
the pain toughened my face. The stuck spot left throbbing as I ignored it,
keeping my eyes fixated on the ground. I stared blankly waiting for him to
finish. Not a tear escaped my eyes, there was no use crying. Tears made a
man weak, and I was anything but. The pain never seemed to break me, so my
father tried harder.
I kept that icy gaze forever. I still wear it today.
Honestly, I don't think it was the beatings that drove me away. My body was
always decorated with cuts and bruises, I hardly noticed. Sometimes he
talked to her, mother.
I came home with the freshly chopped wood and tarnished hands. I walked in and saw him staring at the fire carelessly fidgeting with it through his fingers. Mother. The slammed door didn't even redirect his attention. I stood holding the wood and watching. I stared blankly as he threw the remaining pieces into the fire. The fire that he built solely for this purpose, for it was only September and winter wouldn't be chilling us for quite some time.
I ran to my room, remembering her, longing for her. I reached into the drawer for my picture and realized it was gone. It was mine he destroyed. I hadn't noticed when I first ran in, but my room was bare. Nothing remained, where had it gone? Father sat next to the fire, sweating but satisfied. He destroyed it all, fed it to the fire. He was beaming with delight until he saw the blank stare on my face. He wanted tears but he wouldn't get them. I looked to him and with my icy gaze demanded why. "You're mother son. She told me to. I only do as she wishes, you must have made her angry again."
My father was absolutely insane. Fear kept me drawn to that house. I knew mother was dead, but challenging father was not healthy. He talked to her sometimes. Well into the night he'd be arguing with her. Then next day he'd be up making her breakfast. I longed for the forbidden meal. It was always within my reach but so far away. Father guarded it. Only mother could have it. If only mother could hear my stomach roar.
My thoughts dissipated as I slammed that door for the last time. I had nothing to pack, for he had destroyed everything. Courage had prevailed and allowed an escape.
I came home with the freshly chopped wood and tarnished hands. I walked in and saw him staring at the fire carelessly fidgeting with it through his fingers. Mother. The slammed door didn't even redirect his attention. I stood holding the wood and watching. I stared blankly as he threw the remaining pieces into the fire. The fire that he built solely for this purpose, for it was only September and winter wouldn't be chilling us for quite some time.
I ran to my room, remembering her, longing for her. I reached into the drawer for my picture and realized it was gone. It was mine he destroyed. I hadn't noticed when I first ran in, but my room was bare. Nothing remained, where had it gone? Father sat next to the fire, sweating but satisfied. He destroyed it all, fed it to the fire. He was beaming with delight until he saw the blank stare on my face. He wanted tears but he wouldn't get them. I looked to him and with my icy gaze demanded why. "You're mother son. She told me to. I only do as she wishes, you must have made her angry again."
My father was absolutely insane. Fear kept me drawn to that house. I knew mother was dead, but challenging father was not healthy. He talked to her sometimes. Well into the night he'd be arguing with her. Then next day he'd be up making her breakfast. I longed for the forbidden meal. It was always within my reach but so far away. Father guarded it. Only mother could have it. If only mother could hear my stomach roar.
My thoughts dissipated as I slammed that door for the last time. I had nothing to pack, for he had destroyed everything. Courage had prevailed and allowed an escape.
