𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐒

004- You Say Wetin?

°°°MARVIN°°°

Time wasn't a luxury we had, and the more of it we wasted our hope of anything got bleaker and bleaker.

Growing up in the heart of the ghetto, I had known that it was a place where broken dreams and shattered hopes littered the streets like discarded cigarette butts, and my life had been defined by struggle from the moment I took my first breath in this unforgiving world.

But it wasn't the decrepit surroundings that marked my existence; it was the constant torment and abuse that echoed within the walls of our dilapidated home.

The house itself stood as a testament to our destitution. Its once-vibrant walls were now a sickly shade of gray, peeling and cracked like the fragile souls that resided within. The roof leaked incessantly, leaving a stale odor of decay to permeate every corner. There were no pictures adorning the walls, no signs of love or warmth that a family home should possess. Only emptiness and despair lingered in the air, mingling with the palpable tension that hung heavy like a storm cloud.

In this desolate existence, my younger sister and I were trapped, caged birds with clipped wings. Each day was a struggle to survive, to navigate the treacherous waters of our existence.

But the true terror lay in our father, a man consumed by his own demons. Heck, he wasn't even deemed to be called one at all. He was a creature fueled by rage and intoxicated by the bottle, a volatile combination that turned our humble abode into a prison of fear.

It was another ordinary day when the brewing storm of anger erupted yet again. Our father stumbled through the front door, a drunken haze clouding his eyes as he demanded food, his voice a slurred symphony of belligerence. But the shelves stood barren, and the refrigerator mocked our hunger. And the disgraceful being never left a dime for food, so I wondered how he had the audacity to ask so casually but then again he was who he was.

I sat unmoved, from my corner like I didn't just hear him spill nonsense.

As his violent words rattled from his lips, my sister and I exchanged glances, silently communicating the shared burden of our existence. We were tired—tired of the unending cycle of abuse, tired of being voiceless in a world that never seemed to hear our cries. And in that moment, something within me snapped.

The gun I had was pressed against my side, a cold reminder of the dangerous path I had chosen. It was a secret I held close, hidden from the prying eyes of my family, yet serving as a constant reminder of the path I walked.

Echoes of my father's threats reverberated through the walls, a determination burned within me like the ember of a smoldering fire. I stood up, my gaze fixed on the man who had held our lives hostage for far too long. I was filled with a newfound resolve, an unwavering certainty that I would no longer be a victim.

"You think I won't do it?" I spoke, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"You think you can push us around forever?"

My father's eyes narrowed, a mixture of anger and surprise flickering within them. He had always been the one in control, the puppet master who reveled in our suffering. But now, as I stood before him, a desperate spark ignited within my soul.

"What's gotten into you, boy?" he sneered, his voice thick with contempt.

"You think you're a man now, ehn?"

I met his gaze, my own eyes burning with a fierce determination. I had lived my life in fear, trapped within the shackles of my circumstances. But no longer.