Sentiment of a Witness

𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝙳𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

It was one of the few mornings where my father hadn't come looking for me the previous night. I was able to sleep in my comfortable and warm bed without much of a care in the world. I was awoken by the feeling of a person's hand on my arm. I flinched away – I wasn't used to physical contact unless it was supposed to hurt – and crouched by in the corner where my bed met the wall, wild eyes looking at the person who'd awoken my peaceful slumber.

It was Alicea.

She was sitting there, by the side of my bed, mouth slightly open in shock, eyes wide and tearful.

"Oh, John, I'm so sorry. I knew something was going on, I-"

I gave her a disconsolate smile and crawled over the covers to give her a hug - the first hug I'd given anyone in a long time and the last for a while longer.

She knew, though. She knew something was up – I'd seen her snooping around trying to figure stuff out when either my parents weren't home or while she was cleaning.

But that day was the last time I'd seen Alicea. The next day when I had stumbled down for breakfast after a night of pain, I was met with my mother cooking up some smoke. I stood there, feeling delirious as I stared at her, frozen in place.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE, BOY! HELP ME!"

Under any other circumstance, I would've laughed. But my mother is one terrifying woman, and though I didn't know much about cooking and even less about fire, I managed to help in a way that satisfied the devil in the kitchen.

"Where's Alicea?" I asked, hoping that my question wouldn't be shut down, though expecting it would be.

"Fired."

"What?"

"The little witch came and told us how to parent. She didn't deserve the job anyway."

Oh, I remember thinking, this is my fault. If I hadn't flinched or given any feedback at all then, Alicea wouldn't have been kicked out. It seemed that my parents were thinking similar things.

"Your father wishes to see you this afternoon too. Now, scram, don't let me catch you down here again, or I can guarantee you that you'll get more of a beating than you are already, little demon," my mother pointed to the door and threw a brush from the sink had me as I obeyed her orders.

I could feel tears stinging my eyes. Alicea was gone. It really did seem that anyone I let in would be ripped away in the blink of an eye. My only source of light (and food) in this cold, dark, dead house. Why did this have to happen to me? Why did this have to happen to her?

She'd done nothing wrong, I told myself, this is all your fault. Because you're a freak. A freakier freak than the usual freaks of the Free State. A Witness, a disgrace, an outcast. Why are you still here?

But where was here? In this house, with my parents? Or alive in this world? Whichever it was, it was still a good question.

Later that day, when my father came into my room, he looked somewhat calm, which was honestly scarier than him looking furious. I swallowed hard before standing up and turning to face him.

"John," he said, and I was taken aback at his soft tone and use of my first name.

"Father," I responded, not softly, but not harshly either.

"We need to talk," he said, sitting down on my bed and patting the spot next to him.

Yeah, something was definitely up. I was scared and tearful already. It was my response to my father now – whenever I saw him, I just wanted to curl and cry.

I reluctantly sat down on the bed next to him, though keeping my distance.

"There is a man who is willing to take you in. Once he does, you will say nothing about us to anyone, you hear me? We've never met, you don't know us, and we don't know you. You're no child of ours."

I felt a pain in my heart. It stretched up into my throat and made me feel sick – whether from his harsh words or the fact that I was finally being taken away, I will never know. Perhaps it was a combination of the two?

"You're selling me," I choked out.

There was a suffocating silence as neither of us spoke for a minute, glaring into each other's hardened eyes, reaching an unspoken understanding. An understanding that I knew what was happening and that neither of us really cared.

"Yes, we are selling you. You've been nothing but a burden. I don't know how we didn't see you for what you were in the first place...."

"I could say the same thing," I muttered.

Curse my eight-year-old sass...

"What did you say?"

"I said that I could say the same thing. Y'know, 'I don't know how we didn't see you for what you were in the first place'?"

I wasn't lying.

It was so obvious now. My parents were always too controlling and were somewhat manipulative. It was only a matter of time before I would have begun to realise that.

THWACK.

The back of a hand across the face, and I fall off the bed.

"Oh really? After everything your mother and I have put up with!? THIS is how you repay us, you ungrateful little brat!? After all we've done for you?"

I stood up and spat back, "You've barely done anything! You're selling me! All because of my knack. You wish I didn't have it, and so do I!"

My father flinches and then growls, "and then I suppose it would have just been better if you'd never been born."

At least we could agree on one thing.

"Yes. I suppose it would have."

I feel tears beginning to stream down my face as my father lets out another maniacal laugh, giving me the cue to run before my ribs are broken. I ran to the door, but not before something sharp and cold could hit my side - the buckle of a belt.

I cried out in pain as I dodged a second blow and ran for the library. It was the best place to go to when your father was running after you, screaming curses and waving a belt around like a psychopath – many bookshelves to run in-between.

As I weave and duck behind and through the shelves, my father attempts to keep up, but being small has many benefits. I lost him and stopped to catch my breath and try to work out where he went – he was right behind me five seconds beforehand. I found him, but it was too late – he had full-on tackled me to the ground, pinning down my arms and legs.

"You think you can run from me, boy? You think you can outsmart me?!"

For the hundredth time that year, I had the wind knocked out of me with a blow to the stomach. I didn't know where the belt had gone, but I was thankful it wasn't there.

"When this man takes you from us, you will say nothing about us to anyone! You hear me? We've never met, you don't know us, and we don't know you. You're not any child of ours."

And you're no parents of mine.

Tears and searing pain blurring my vision, I kicked out at the man who had once called me his beloved son. I take his moment of shock to run to my room, narrowly avoiding my mother, who was yelling at me to 'come back right this instant!'.

I locked my door and grabbed my favourite book before heading to my bedroom window and pulling it open, letting a gust of the early night air brush my tear-stained face. With a fleeting glance back at the poor door that was definitely about to bust off its hinges, I jumped out of my room on the third floor.

Written - 3, 4, 15 + 17 June, 2021

Published - 19 June, 2021

Hey all! Just thought I'd let you know that I'll be away on a family road trip for the next three weeks and I might not be able to update my fanfics. I will try to write while I'm away, but I'm not sure how often I will be able to. Have a wunderful day/evening!  

~ WundrousPotato ✨