MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING:
Domestic Violence and Alcohol Abuse
------------------------------------------------------------
1976
THE LEFT LIVING ROOM WINDOW WAS BUSTED. Dad threw the television through it in a fit of rage. He held a glass shard in his closed fist, pointing it at me accusingly.
Well it was Sunday Bloody Sunday
When they shot the people there
The cries of thirteen martyrs
Filled the free Derry air
Is there any one amongst you
Dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding
When they nailed the coffin lids!
"You did this." He slurred, stumbling towards me, a twisted glare across his pale face.
My mother screamed and covered Emmaline's eyes. "Leave her be, Chris! She didn't do anything."
"Shut up whore!" He yelled, whipping around to see Ma, shooting her the same glare he gave me.
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
"Don't you talk to her like that!" I took the chance I had, and shoved him, sending him spiraling towards his recliner.
My heart raced, pumping faster than my body could keep up, as he hurled the glass shard at me. "Ungrateful bitch."
You claim to be majority
Well you know that it's a lie
You're really a minority
On this sweet Emerald Isle
When Stormont bans our marchers
They've got a lot to learn
Internment is no answer
It's those mothers' turn to burn!
"Say it again." I hollered, pointing to myself. "Say it again! Hit me, man!"
He did. My father crossed the floor in a beat and slapped me across the face, throwing me face-first to the floor. I screamed. He picked me up and shoved me against the wall by the collar of my now-bloody t-shirt.
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
"You're never going to talk to me like that ever again, Vivian." He said through gritted teeth, holding a cigarette. Smoke blew into my face, forcing me to breathe it in.
You Anglo pigs and Scotties
Sent to colonise the north
You wave your bloody Union Jacks
And you know what it's worth!
How dare you hold to ransom
A people proud and free
Keep Ireland for the Irish
Put the English back to sea!
I gulped and spat at him, trying to shake him off of me. "Fuck off, Christopher."
My father pulled me off of the wall, and held me at an arms length, wheeling his left arm back. Oh, another thing I've inherited from him. Left-handedness.
It connected with my cheek, causing me to bite my tongue and hang my head. I could taste iron as I looked at him through red whisps of hair, bringing my head back up, cocking it back so I could see him fully.
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
"Do it again," I laughed, barring my crimson teeth at him.
He grabbed my hair by the roots and slammed my head back into the wall, then my back. "Tell me you're never going to treat me like this again. Tell me!"
I wanted to cry. My body wanted to give up. To fail. To lose. I refused. "No."
Well it's always bloody Sunday
In the concentration camps
Keep Falls and roads free forever
From the bloody English hands
Repatriate to Britain
All of you who call it home
Leave Ireland to the Irish
Not for London or for Rome!
Another blow. Then another. And another, until I was sure I was unrecognizable.
My mother was screaming. My sister was crying.
"Say it, Vivian!" My father pressed, giving me a second to hang my head over my shoulders. I caught a glimpse of blood streaking through my hair, and I smiled.
"I will never..." I began, moving my hand beside me, finding the coffee table. My fingers wrapped around a bottle.
"Go on." His grip never relaxed, it onmy tightened, stretching the collar of my shirt out.
"I will never let you treat me like that again!" I gripped the bottle and brought it above my head, bringing it down on his. The bottle shattered into a thousand pieces, bloody glass shards flying everywhere.
He started to fall, but he never let me go, and used the rest of his strength to pull me under his weight.
Just like the bottle, my arm shattered into a thousand pieces. I cried in agony, trying to pull my arm from under his limp, unconscious body.
My mother just stood there, terrified, staring at us with wide, worried eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it.
Sirens sounded in the distance, mixed with the John Lennon record spinning on the turntable, lulling me to sleep. My eyes grew heavier by the second, until I blacked out.
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
Sunday bloody Sunday
Bloody Sunday's the day!
YOU ARE READING
DAZED AND CONFUSED | VANCE HOPPER
FanfictionPinball Wizard. ❝This is fucking insane.❞ ❝And you're fucking insane.❞ Vivian Wylie was pinball gold in her hometown, Wildwood New Jersey. Her fresh-out-of-divorce mother hauls Vivi and her younger sister out to a small Colorado town, forcing a new...
