Breaking Chains

Chapter One

When I was six, I loved fairy tales. I loved how, in the end, the princess would always get her Prince Charming and live happily ever after.

When I was sixteen, I stopped believing in happy endings.

And why, you may ask?

My mother died that year.

It hurt then, and it hurts now. And I suppose that the pain will never really go away, and hopefully soon enough I’ll just become numb.

I wish it was the only type of pain that I had to go through.

But, I’ve figured out that life isn’t easy, and I’ve come to accept it. But it’s not bad to wish that it was.

My father loved my mother so much, and when she died, he turned to alcohol to numb the pain.

We all have our escapes.

But that wasn’t necessarily it.

Soon enough, my father began taking his anger out on me. He was mad that my mother left him, he was mad that I looked like her, he was mad that I reminded him of her. He hated me.

He was mad that I survived and she didn’t.

He was mad about a lot of things.

And now, a year later, fresh bruises design my body like a pattern and scars litter my once untouched skin.

Nowadays, I try to get home from school before my father gets home from work, so I can lock myself up in my room. On particularly bad days, I lock myself inside my closet to try and block out his screaming.

School is my only saviour.

But even there, I’m known as a ‘loner freak,’ the emo, the mentally unstable, the crazy one.

I’ve learned to block them out, too.

I don’t have any friends, my grades aren’t particularly high, but how can they be when I’m worried about making it alive the next day?

My dad’s pulled a knife on me more than once.

The only thing I consider myself good at is art. Art is a way of life, art can be anything. Art is an expression, an attitude, a release. Art doesn’t have to be on paper, it can be anything.

I’ve learned the art of living.

You live, you die. That’s it.

Silence is deafening.

I never exit the house using the front door if my father falls asleep in the living room. And today, he has.

I pull my backpack on my back and quietly push my window open.

Unlike in the movies, where they always seem to have a tree to use to get down, I have nothing.

I brace myself before I jump.

The pain isn’t that bad anymore. The first time I jumped, I wasn’t very careful, so I ended up screaming in pain when I hit the ground.

I couldn’t walk for a week after that.

I stand up and dust myself off. The sun has just peeked over the mountains.

I start my journey to the first day of senior year.

Fun.

Even in the early hours of the morning, Woodoak High School is bustling with excitement. Familiar squeals of excitement and chatter fill the morning air.