Mein Hertz Brennt

If It Ain't Broke, Break It.

•Annaliese's POV•

I have never known the joys of childhood. It was robbed from me at a very young age, when I was forced to become an adult before ever knowing what it was to even be a child. Whether it was at home or on the streets with the other children, I quickly learned to fend for myself.

When I was eight, my parents, Claudia and Oskar Herlitz, moved us from our quaint little home in the small town of Heidelberg, to the big city; Berlin. The shock of moving from such a small town to such a monstrous city frightened me, and it took me many weeks to adjust and feel comfortable to my new surroundings.

Within a few months of having settled into our small, two bedroom apartment in one of the multiple high rises of North Berlin, my father's love affair with alcohol then began. He would arrive home later in the evenings, reeking of cheap cigarettes and bourbon whiskey. His eyes glazed over from the late night of heavy drinking. It was roughly about that time, when he begun accusing my mother of cheating on him. Closely followed by the fighting and thrashings.

When it first began, their scuffles were just like any typical married couple fights; yelling and cussing at each other, blaming each other for financial problems. During these rows, I would spend my time hiding away in the depths of my closet, trying to avoid the warzone that my parents had created for themselves. Eventually, after hours or fighting and yelling, my father would give up. Either too tired or too drunk to continue. He would then retreat to his study for the night, not to be heard of again until morning.

As time progressed, the fights became more frequent and much more violent. Eventually, there wasn't a day that my father didn't come home drunk. Delusional, he'd accuse my mother of being the reason he turned to the drink in the first place. Promptly, my father's bad habits had caught up with him. He ended up losing his job working for a major law firm in town, and was quickly reduced to nothing.

I can remember that night like it was yesterday.

It was late. Much later than my father usually got in. I was getting ready for bed at the time, brushing out my hair so it was soft and shiny for the morning. Suddenly my father burst through the front door, his face was a bright crimson and his eyes were glazed over, with a wild, fuel induced anger.

Once again, the drink had rendered him delusional, and he had convinced himself that my mother had had another man over that evening.

"You dirty bitch..." He exclaimed, the veins in his neck pulsing. "I slave my ass off for you and this is how you repay me?" He screamed, his face inches from hers, spittle flying everywhere. Instantly, I ran to find shelter inside my closet. Although, no matter where I had hid, it couldn't have kept me from witnessing the beating my father bore down on my mother that night.

I tried to muffle her screams and whimpers by covering my ears, however I could still make out every single blow that laid on her. I cried, praying to god that he would stop. Praying that he simply wouldn't end her life this way.

My prayers were finally answered, when he finally stopped throwing punches. She was on the ground, doubled up in the fetal position. Her nose and multiple ribs, clearly fractured. Blood stained the floor and the walls around her as he paced around her snarling, the beast in him surfacing.

From where I stood, I heard him mutter from under his breath, "You got what you deserve..." Without another word, or a second glance, he left.

That was the last night we ever saw him. Good riddance.