Angels Fall

1

Everything that went wrong in the world landed on my back. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't please them. Everything I did was wrong in their eyes. I hated fearing for life every time I stepped into the house. Several years later, the only way I cope is drinking. Drinking one after the other to numb the unbearable pain of my childhood. At times the nightmares and flashbacks are all too real....it's-it's almost like I'm back at the house and trapped in that cold, dark storm cellar.
•••••
The storm shelter was my room. It was cold, dark, and cramped. It was about as big as an average sized bedroom but add storage supplies and that leaves a little less than half. Father's heavy foot steps sounded above and he called my name, slurring his words. Yet again, he's drunk. The cellar door opened, allowing light to spill into the usual darkness that consumed this awful place. Father walked down the rickety wooden stairs and in seeing me gave one of his famous gut churning smirks. I looked into those cold green eyes of his, seeing hatred starring back at me. A belt was wadded up in his left hand.

"Come here, Andy." He shouted and I flenched at his words as I obediently scrambled to my feet.

I stood in front of him, trembling. Father back handed me across the face before taking me by the shirt and slamming me against a wall. He began yelling at me. He threw me to the floor, knocking all the wind out of me. Soon the belt whipped through the air and came crashing down on my back leaving whelps, bruises, and several bloody gashes. Over and over Father struck me with the belt and continued to do so until I quit begging him to stop. The more I begged and cried the worse the beating was. Satisfied with his work, he walked back up the stairs and closed the cellar door, leaving me bloodied and battered and consumed once again in total darkness.
•••••
Coming out of my flashback, I realized that I found my way to a corner, had my knees pulled to my chest, and was rocking back and forth. I was crying softly and the vodka bottle was clutched tightly in my left hand. Father thought I obeyed because I loved him. No, I obeyed because I feared him. Still to this day I fear him. I really wanted to tell someone, but I couldn't. Father always enforced the rules and one was never to tell anyone about the abuse. Besides it's probably best that I keep this to myself. I wouldn't want to put this burden on anyone. Even through I don't want to go through this pain alone anymore. If I did tell would anyone accept me? Would anyone accept someone as damaged as I am?