Trapped In Salem

To Count Every Star In The Sky

"Mediocre, lackluster, humdrum, monotonous!"
"No, no, much less than that; your work is undoubtedly nauseatingly the absolute worst working I have seen in all of my forty three's of life!"
My ears rang loud as the choleric raspy voice built up almost enough volume to blow out my inner ear, After the ringing calmed I felt my eyebrows arch down into a 'v' shape, showing off my disapproval of what he had said.
The raspy voice from before, was of course attained through innumerable taxing years of smoking; the noises that the rasp had somehow managed to emit thundered through the room bouncing off the now semi-dirtied periwinkle walls. The blasting sounds that rippled through the air made me visibly flinch, as well as produce an echoing effect.
My heart raced in my small framed chest faster than the speed of light, pounding against my fraile ribcage and I couldn't utter a single word. My eyebrows remained in their disapproving downward position.
This callous man, he is certainly not understanding when it comes to these type of things. He is full of hatred, full of vile thoughts, full of so many evils that it's hard for him to contain them all, yet, I stay with this bitter hearted man.
Why you ask? Well...It's quite obvious once you've seen him, he's a mess, he cannot take care of himself one little bit, he's so clumsy that it almost qualifies as a talent, heck he can't even take off his shoes by himself anymore because he's gotten so large.
"I'm... really sorry.."
The words, spoken so very softly, were finally able to place themselves and slip from my panic-stricken lips. I still had anger coursing through my body but at this point the fear had overtaken most of the anger that once lived in the ending pit I call my mind.
I felt my weak body tremble as a devious malevolent look crossed his vile and odious eyes.
"Your sorry excuse for an apology isn't going to cut it this time, you ungrateful little brat!"
The man, who is speaking so foully to me, his name is Digor Blanchard, he is a very tall man around six foot six when not wearing his disgusting brown, tattered shoes. Also Mr. Blanchard (As he now makes me call him) has the bluest of blue eyes with the slightest hint of green, his eyes, in my opinion, do not suit him in the slightest. His dark and oily dirt brown hair; which was beginning to thin from being exposed to stress; framed his pudgy, pale, and flustered face. He isn't able to grow much facial hair (if any) causing him to look like an oversized egg-baby. And well..this egg-baby..he's my.. dad. I guess it's kinda hard to believe, am I right? A man speaking in such ways to his only child...
"Sorry never cuts it with you..."
I whispered the short sentence under my breath in an attempt to keep my father from hearing me.
Though, of course, with the world so against me, he did.
"Excuse you?"
I could feel the acid drip off his serpent like tongue and burn me.
"I said, "Sorry never cuts it with you."."
As I spoke this time I held my head a bit higher and made sure to speak with more volume.
With that, a loud grunt came from the cavernous mouth of my dad, and he shuffled (he had gotten to the point that running tired him out too much) to the stand next to our red leather couch that our lamp stood on. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the lamp, brought it over his head, and let the lamp go flying straight towards my skull.
Before the large ceramic lamp made contact with me I ducked, causing it to just barely miss me.
I glared at his egg shaped head waiting for the real insults to start flying at me.
Now, before I explain to you why my father is acting in such ways let me tell you a little about myself so you are able to picture the type of person I am. My name is Indarine Blanchard, I am a thirteen year old boy with about as much self esteem as a potato. Probably less to be honest. Oh and please don't ask why I'm using so many food analogies I'm just really hungry. Anyway I'm just about the polar opposite of my dad: personality wise, and looks. You see, my hair is a light shade of blonde, almost white, the style isn't exactly the best considering I have to cut it myself and.. I have extremely shaky hands. My eyes are bright and wide, kinda like a girls (which is slightly embarrassing) the colour, honey mixed with a little brown. I am pale, but less so than my father and compared to him I'm basically a walking stick. Yes, a stick: tall and thin, that seems to describes me perfectly... So uh.., on to my father's burning rage.
"HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY FAIL AT SUCH A SIMPLE TASK ANYWAYS, NO CHILD OF MINE COULD POSSIBLY BE SO USELESS, ARE YOU A COMPLETE IDIOT, BUFFOON, IGNORAMUS, CRETIN, HOW MANY SYNONYMS DO I NEED TO USE BEFORE IT GETS INTO YOUR THICK SKULL?!"
The scarily harsh words came pouring from his mouth like a waterfall, each insult pulling more and more at the strings in my heart so much I thought they would break if he had said even one more. As soon as he stopped his lip flapping, blue clashed against honey brown and the tension in the room built to an almost unbearable level. The silence almost hurt more than the words. My mouth remained closed though, I had made my father enraged once today, I certainly do not want to do it again.
"DO I NEED TO REPEAT MYSELF BOY!?"
His loud screaming broke the silence and caused a ringing noise to suddenly appear in my ear canal. I shook my head letting a quiet.
"No, sir."
Escape my pale pink lips. Quickly bowing and turning to grab the dustpan so I could clean up the sharp shards of glass scattered across the polished wooden floor.
My father left the room soon after his meltdown and that's when I let the salty tears slip from my now reddened eyes. My... dad.. has been this way ever since my mother left. But I refuse to leave him, because this is a time where father needs me most in his life. I just wish...things could go back to the way they were when mom was here.
In that moment my body began to glow a very bright light bluish color and I felt almost faint.
"Ah, I must.. be tired."
My body rocked to and fro as I looked at the clock and noticed it was already two a.m., with a tired sigh I pushed myself off the dirtied flooring and threw the now bloodied shards in a waste bin. Then proceeded to dizzily haul myself up the staircase and flop on the silk sheets of my bed. Just before I fell into a deep, deep sleep I very faintly heard my father sing "DON'T CHA WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS HOT LIKE ME, DON'T CHA, DON'T CHA!?" in the shower. "Don't cha?" I whispered half awake. I felt myself giggle hysterically into the pillow as I realized that was probably the most bonding I've ever had with my dad and he didn't even know it happened.
My giggles soon cooled down and I looked through my window at the stars and just began to count, I counted, and counted, and counted, and counted. Until, there were no more to count. I know what you're thinking.
"You can't count all the stars in the sky."
Well I'm living proof that, that is a lie. Because, on that fateful night I counted every single glittering diamond of hope in that darned sky. And no one can tell me any different.