Teary-eyed, barefoot, and in my pajamas, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. Out the door, across the yard, and down the street, the wind whipping my hair into my line of vision. The street lights were blurry through my half-closed eyes, and I could barely see where I was going. Didn’t matter. I had no idea where I was going anyway. My small feet carried me down the empty street, past all the houses, far away. Which was where I needed to be.
Wasn’t long before I was out of breath though. I began to slow, and my sprint gradually faded into a slow stroll until I came to a complete halt. I sat on the pavement, and struggled to catch my breath. My feet hurt, and I rubbed them one after the other. I could hear cars rushing past, and I knew I wasn’t far from the estate gate. I resolved to keep going after I’d rested and tended to my aching feet and limbs.
I was tired. Emotionally though, not just physically. Echoes of the war raging at my house vibrated repeatedly in my mind. I shook my head, but it didn’t help. They were stuck there, plastered to the walls and latched on to memories past. But that’s the thing with memories. Sometimes, they grow fainter and hazy with time. Other times, they build over the years, getting ever stronger, building on recurrences of events. My case was the latter. I resigned and buried in my tiny palms.
I couldn’t really remember a time when my home was ever peaceful. I was oblivious to all the anger and venom that encircled my parents whenever they were in the same vicinity when I was younger, but as I grew it became more and apparent that something was amiss. They tried to hide it initially, arguing only in raised whispers, and stopping whenever I came into the room. You can only pretend for so long though. As time passed, I could feel the chill that filled the air whenever they were in the same room. Tension so thick you’d need a chainsaw to slice through, silence often broken only by my voice. Yes, there was no hiding it anymore. My parent had fallen madly and desperately out of love with each other.
I can’t say if there was ever any love there though. If there was, it was probably long before I was born, or maybe when I was still a toddler, because I certainly couldn’t remember. There was none of the affection my classmates often spoke of. No smiles, no hugs, no loving looks were ever exchanged, and they slept in separate rooms.
My dad had a company to run, and was gone most of the time. My mum was happiest when he was gone. We’d cook,
Play board games, read, and watch tv together either curled up on the couch, or sprawled on the floor. My dad would take me out sometimes, and we’d get ice cream, or go shopping for new dresses, toys and goodies. I had fun with both my parents individually, so I knew each was a loving, caring person as a single unit . Together, however, it was a disaster. One that had turned our home into a war front.
I’d stumbled upon many arguments over the years, and I’d run back up to my room and sob quietly. On the occasions where they saw me, one of them would come up after me and comfort me, making promises of better times. Promises I’d learnt were empty. The next day, I’d get something new. Somehow, I got accustomed to this environment. I never knew what the fights were about, and I was silenced or ignored when I tried to ask, so I just learnt to kind of ignore it as much as I could. They never went beyond yelling and rants. Sometimes, someone would storm out of the house and return hours later.
But that night….it was different. I was getting ready for bed, and was coming out of the bathroom when I’d heard a crash. Heart pounding, I’d rushed downstairs, and straight to the kitchen, where I’d determined the noise had to have come from. Nothing in a million years could have prepared me for what I saw when I swung open the kitchen door. My mum was backed up against a wall, and my dad had one hand round her neck. The other froze mid-air as they both stared wide-eyed at me. I was frozen too. My mind seemed to stop functioning. I’d never seen my dad even touch my mum, so the sight before me was beyond horrid. I turned and ran.
As I sat on the pavement, the image of my dad about to hit my mum frozen in my mind, tears rolled down my cheeks. The night air had gotten chilly, and I shivered. It had gotten darker as well. The few houses that still had lights on had turned pitch black. The beginnings of fear were brewing in the pit of my stomach. My options were to either continue sown the dark scary road, or return to the horror at home. Sobs took over, and I began to shake more even more.
I jumped as I heard my name, and looked up to see my parents. My mum was running towards me, and my dad was behind her, holding a torch. I sat still, not knowing to react when my mum engulfed me in a hug. She was shaking as much as I was. My dad just stood, silently watching. After about 2 minutes of squeezing me, my mum stood up and my dad picked me up. As, we headed back towards the house., no one said anything. I was too tired to speak. My eyelids were heavy, and I needed to sleep. I yawned, and, just before I shut my eyes, I saw them hold hands.
So, I might be gone for a while. Have a few ideas I’m working on. Also, for those that have been threatening me, Daddy’s Girl will continue as soon as I’m back. I’m trying to perfect the story, so I give you what you deserve (the best)
Still need writers to feature on my blog while I work on more constructive and enjoyable material (and titles). I’d really hate for all this creative space to go to waste with so much talent out there. So, if you’re interested, please send a draft of a story to firstname.lastname@example.org 🙂
Also, my birthday is in 14 days \=D/ Please kindly look at the image below. Wouldn’t be lovely if I got my dream phone as my present? *hint hint* *wink wink* 😀
Plenty kilzes …..xx