The Spark

The Very Beginning of Everything

My real name is Gabriella, or Gabby for short. Since I ran away from home I have been going by Nia, but a little while back I started going by my birth name again. I felt that I should face the past and get it over with. Back to why this story was written; ever since 2080 and the conflict between Russia and the United States there's been a war. At least, that's what my history teacher used to tell us. She's long gone now. Practically every house in the town that I used to live in is burned to the ground. Including my own. When I first saw my house in ashes I cried, but now when I think back to the image of my destroyed home I feel no sympathy. I was abused in that house. I hope dad was in there when it burned down. He was the one that probably burned it to the ground with all that alcohol in him. It is a fire hazard.

I have lied about my age, smuggled people across the country, changed my name, and have been kidnapped by gang members. If anyone thinks I'll stop now they're wrong. The year right now is 3008. It's been 28 years since the war started and it's still going strong. Now let us begin when I first ran away from my abusive father and my mental mother when I was 10.

>>>>>5 years earlier<<<<<

I woke up with my blankets gone and my bare legs shivering in the morning air. Probably mom thinking that she could build a force-field in between her and dad with my so called "special blankets." I closed my eyes for a second and enjoyed the peacefulness of the summer morning. Then dad came home from his night-shift. His car parked and he opened the car door and slammed it back shut causing me to leap out of bed and run to my mother in her room. She was still in bed sleeping peacefully. Not anymore. I woke her up as fast as I could.

"Mum, daddy's home we gotta hide." She just looked at me with her dark eyes and smiled vacantly. I grabbed her arm and hoisted her out of bed. In her room it was a minefield. Knitting needles everywhere, yarn, my blankets, and her clothes. It was almost impossible not to trip, but over the past years I had learned the quiet places on the floor and had practice keeping myself from falling onto the ground.

"Mum, just step where I step, got that?" I asked her and she smiled again vacantly. I mentally groaned. There surely had to be a cure for whatever mental issues she had. But whatever the antibiotics were, we probably wouldn't be able to afford them. We were poor with only daddy supporting us financially. Second floor board to the left. Hop to far right by bedside...

The front door opened and slammed shut with a boom like a thunder. I flinched so hard that I jumped and almost gave away our position.

"Guess who just got fired?!" I could hear his pounding footsteps around the house. Fifth crack on floor by closet door... We were trying to find a hiding spot in mom's room as quickly as we could before he could find us. He was more drunk than usual. That's saying something. 

His footsteps came nearer and nearer. We finally found a place in the closet to hide mom and I shoved her in there closing it behind her, but what about me? I couldn't face him on my own. Every time that I was the victim of the night/morning my mom was out there facing it with me. Now she was hiding and I was out in the open.

Dad's footsteps sounded right in the hallway. Middle, far left, tippy toes, and crouch... I quickly dove under mom's bed and tried to keep my breathing as quietly as I could. I had always been a loud breather. Especially through my nose, it was always whistles.

Dad came into the room and jumped as loud as he could. I wasn't expecting it and I flinched really hard and hit my head on the bottom of the bed stand.

"Gotcha..." Dad muttered to himself. He grabbed my feet and dragged me out from my hiding spot. I desperately tried to grab onto anything. Anything. My hands were so sweaty, I couldn't grip onto anything. So I let dad drag me out.

"Now, don't you think it's a little rude to purposely hide from your own father when he has had a bad night at work? A little punishment won't hurt...." He dropped down to my level. His brown eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked. I whimpered and glanced at mom's hiding spot. I could see her eyes peeking out and I could hear her breathing. She knew I was about to rebel against dad even before I did.

"No." I said. He looked surprised and I'm sure I did too.

"What did you say, twerp?" He said, gripping my forearm tightly.

" I said no, ya wanna hear it in Spanish? Noh." I said leaning in. (😃😃😃😃)

He stood to his full height so he was looking down on me. Just how I always felt. He was always looking down on me. It made me fill up with past rage and present rage. I didn't know such anger was inside of me until I was ready to recognize it.

"I don't like your tone." He said quietly. I stood and looked into his eyes. "Get used to it. I'm going to be using it more often." Anger and ferocity flashed through his eyes. His grip on my arm tightened even more so. I thought back to mom, and how she was just watching from the closet, cowering behind her clothes and who-knows-what. I was mad at her for that. And as I thought about it more I'm pretty sure my eyes showed more and more rebelliousness. I felt powerful. I had finally stood up to dad for once. I felt a strong wave of.... clarity. Like from here on out I would have to fend for myself. I had just learned to stick with my instincts, and that's also the moment that I felt sure in myself. For so many months I had been doubting myself constantly. Now? I'm sure that my choices were the right thing to do.

My dad laughed in frustration. "Where is your mother?"

I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "You think that I'm going to help you? After all you did? No. You'll never find her. Not in a million years."

Disgust washed over his face and he walked out of the room. I followed him to the living room was. At least we call it that because we're still living and when he's in good moods, which rarely happens, we settle down and watch a movie. It's kinda nice. 

He took the TV and smashed it to the ground. I clapped my hand to my mouth and gasped. All the good times came from that TV. Why didn't he want to remember the good times?

He screamed, "WHERE IS SHE?!" I stepped back trembling. He had never snapped like this before. I needed to get away from this house as fast as possible. My mind was made up. That night I would run away. I would pack at 9:00 that night when daddy was usually passed out and mom was out at her secret spot watching the sunset. 

 I also needed to protect mom. How would I deal with this? I couldn't take mom with me. She would be too much of a burden. She was growing more and more weak by the day. In a couple of days she would be full on insane. If I was gone by then I wouldn't be able to do anything about it.  If I stayed, I would be abused further more. Then, an idea popped into my head.

I rushed out of the living room to mom's room. "WhErE dO yOu thInK YoUr gOInG?" Dad slurred in his drunken voice. He still sounded plenty mad, but I don't think he would remember anything in the morning. 

I opened the closet door where mom was hiding. I took her hand and asked, "Hey mom? Can I watch the sunset with you tonight?" She smiled and nodded her head vigorously. I smiled too. It felt good making her happy. 

"How long will it take to get there?" She pointed at the clock and then she pointed at the 12 and went down to the six. So 30 minutes. Over the years I had learned how to understand mom's way of things. There was a lot to learn. "When should we head out?" I asked. She pointed at the 12 and went down to the six. She tapped it and then tapped it again. 6:30. Earlier than I thought but the faster I could get away from dad, the better.