$ My eyes stared out the open window, as the wind pushed another storm across the sky. The moon was colorless tonight, and the stars didn't seem as bright. Maybe time was standing still, or maybe my time had come to an end. He may be the cause of this anger, but he wasn't its victim. Slowly tears fell from my eyes, as there was no point in trying to control this pain any longer. There was no reason to fight, but that had never stopped him before. He only wanted to fight as long as no one fought back, he was a coward, and he would die a coward. My eye felt black, and surely it was bruised again. How many bruises had he caused, and how many times had he walked away? He wanted to pretend that he could make this all go away by pretending to be someone he could never be.
> His door had opened at some point in time, but it closed again shortly after. He got the radio, maybe he hated the silence as much as me. The voice on the radio was screaming about hell, and how we are all victims of sin. How easy it must be for him to agree that he is a victim, and that he can't change who he is. Most of this summer he had tried to pretend to be somebody else, but by now even he must know that is a lie. We are who we are and we can never be anything else. It seemed like a lifetime ago that some preacher man was in our house inviting me to some dinner. There could be no family dinners around that table that had seen so much violence. There was no need for me to pretend to be something other than who had made me become.
> The last storm was violent, and even though The Old Man had tried, he had lost 10 acres of hard work. Our little garden fared well, but it was much easier to protect. Everything he touched eventually died, and it was about time he just accepted that. He had been up before me more times than could be counted, and had even left breakfast behind every time. He worked the fields religiously every day, and stayed out until the sun had almost set. Here we were coming to the end of the season, and the storms that seemed to roll in every day now were destroying everything. The wind was getting cold, and the clouds were getting lower in the sky. He was able to get the second planting in, but it seemed to be no use. He would be forced to harvest the life he had created.
> The closer we would get to summer being over; the closer we got to Lizzy going home. She was sure she would be here until October, but my fear was she would be gone before August ended. For most of this summer Robert wasn't even a thought, our last conversation may very well be our last conversation. He didn't understand how the violence was violent, but he wasn't supposed to know. He never encountered violence, or anger, or wrath. He never encountered sadness, or brokenness. He had his perfect little life in a perfect little house with his perfect little parents. It should've been obvious all along he was just trying to protect me, but it wasn't obvious to me. It made me feel lonely, but then again loneliness wasn't a new feeling to me. It still hurts.
> My anger was still color blind, and the man preaching was still talking about hell. It made no sense to me how much those who went to church talked more about hell than they did Heaven. The Old Man could be heard sobbing over the words, maybe he was finally seeing that he would never change. With nothing else to do, and the room becoming smaller and smaller the window became my only escape. Too many people only loved out of connivence, and my life would always be inconvenient. The scars were too much for The Doc, but he didn't want to stop the scars from forming. Everyone has their reasons, but to me it all just feels like another excuse. In the end what will my excuse be? The night air was cold as it was wet. The rain wouldn't fall for a few more hours.
> There were no stars in the sky, but the moon could vaguely be seen behind the gray haze now. There was no place for me to go, but there was nowhere to stay either. The forest of shadows was the only place that accepted me for me. It was much darker, and the path had to be walked from memory. There were more thoughts of anger, loneliness, and abandonment. Without Lizzy by my side there would be no one. But with Lizzy by my side, she could become the victim of the hate that The Old Man had taught me. It would kill me to ever look at Lizzy the way The Old Man looks at me. She had too much innocence behind her eyes to ever know such meaningless violence. Her dreams were meant to always be happy, and mine were nothing more than nightmares.
YOU ARE READING
Ghosts' of November
Historical Fiction"Ghost's of November" is a haunting exploration of love, loss, and the relentless pursuit of redemption. The story delves into the life of a protagonist who is trapped by memories of a troubled past, seeking peace in a world that offers little solac...