Dear Nene,
I sat on the roof of my apartment complex, wondering why the hell the guy below me was just sitting there as I hit him in the head with peanuts I found in my cabinet. I think I threw a grand total of 84 peanuts—joking, I counted, it was---and it only took me about a half-hour. When I was done, he turned around to stare at me, emerald eyes telling me he thought it was funny or cute. Scared the crap out of me.
Didn't go to school today. I just sat at home. I stared at the wall, believe it or not. Then…the door rang at nine thirty. My first thought was go the hell away, and my second was, who would visit me.
It…um, it was my chichi-san. A little worse for the wear, and drunk. I was—still am—surprised at how he found his way here after almost eighteen years, but they say dogs have inept sense of direction.
I bolted. I couldn't stay. I shoved him aside, and ran. I bowled into people, including the Peanut Man. I didn't care. But, I couldn't find a suitable place to hide, or stay. It seemed like everywhere I went was somewhere he would remember the direction to, and within minutes he'd be there.
For some reason, I found my way into the park, but kept running. By this time, I was panting heavily, with no help from the sobs that left my throat hoarse. After a good hour I spent clutching to a tree branch for dear life, I let my self realize he wasn't going to follow. I fell asleep around midnight, still clutching to that tree branch. I still wouldn't go home this morning. Truth be told, which is something that is rare to be found in this sad and sorry world, I was afraid.
This man, for he deserves not the title of father, he was the one who declined our quality of life. Everything fell after he left. He killed us. Okaa-san discovered drugs and alcohol, and exposed us to it. Though she is as much to blame as he is. Everyday, Nene and I faced screams and rants and shouts about how we'd turn out like our father, and how we reminded her so much of him that she hated us. I remember slapping her face, a technique highly praised in our household, to wake her up. I remember her slapping our faces. I don't want to remember anymore.
I don't want to face him, or my past, or…anything anymore.
But I can't off myself just yet. Don't know why, but I can't. I won't. I'm not taking the easy way out.
Sayonara,
Kawa
