Father was drunk again. Nothing new there.
My mom was hiding in her room. Nothing new there either.
Father was beating me again for something I had no control over. Again, nothing new.
This had become the norm for me for a while. I had tried many different ways to keep my mind over the, sometimes numbing, pain. After a few attempts, I finally discovered something something interesting. If I focused on my surrounds, I found that things always looked best when there was two and mirrored. I couldn't put my finger on what it was called, but I liked the idea of everything to be like that. I couldn't exactly tell why I liked it, but I did.
One this particular evening, I was so focused on the single vase that was a fraction of an inch too the left, that I had not noticed Father giving up on me and leaving. Once I heard his snoring come from his study, I got up off the floor and went over to fix the vase. Once I was certain it was definitely in the middle of the table, I went to my mom's room.
She was a sweet woman, kind and loving but, like most people, feared Father. She had every right to. I've heard how she talks when she thinks I'm asleep. She's grateful I was born, but not as you may think. She's glad Father releases his anger and frustrations out on me and not her anymore. That's not to say that she does not feel guilty for not protecting me.
I knocked on the door, exactly eight times. This way she would know it's me and not a drunken Father. After a couple of seconds, the door opened just enough for me to slip inside. Once inside, my mom immediately hugged me and showered me with apologizes, while I tried to calm her down, telling her it's fine. This normally goes on for about five minutes. After that, she normally helps me patch up and relocate my shoulder once again. This was all part of the little routine I had come to adopt.
Once she had finished bandaging up my torso, I couldn't help but ask about my new found fascination.
Her simply giggled at my words. "Oh, Kiddo. That's called symmetry. It's a wonderful thing, isn't it?"
I nodded excitedly, finally knowing what it was called. "I really like it. Makes everything seem balanced."
"It's lovely that you've found something you like, Kiddo."
As I gazed into her golden eyes, I could tell she did not think I was serious about my love for this "symmetry". I didn't really blame her either. I was only five after all. How many five year olds can really keep their mind on anything for too long?
My mom was a beautiful woman with one of the kindest hearts before she married Father. She's still rather beautiful but I assume not as she had once been. I looked nothing like her, taking on more of Father's physical features, from my black hair with the weird stripes to my almost deathly pale skin. The only thing that differed from Father were my eyes. I had my mom's beautiful golden eyes, instead of his hateful red.
We sat in a comfortable silence for a bit as I admired the woman in front of me. After a couple of minutes, I stood up, thanked my mom and left the room. I quickly made a dash for my room, fearing Father had awoken at some point. Once in the safety of my own room, I thought about what my mom had said. Symmetry... It seemed like such a simple thing, yet at the same time I felt like it would somehow play a big part in my life. Plus I really liked it and what it stood for.
Everything must be in perfect balance...