In the Shadows of the Past | Levi Ackerman

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Every day feels like a neverending storm. I'm only ten years old, yet I bear the weight of responsibilities far beyond my years. In our home, chaos reigns supreme. My stepfather's heavy footsteps echo through the house, a haunting reminder of the turmoil that awaits. He stumbles in, reeking of alcohol, his anger boiling just beneath the surface. I shrink away, praying to remain unnoticed.

My mother, frail and sickly, lies in bed, her once bright eyes now clouded with pain. It's up to me to care for her, to fetch her medication and offer what little comfort I can. I am her protector, her only solace in this sea of darkness. But the burden is crushing, suffocating me with its weight.

Each day is a battle for survival, a delicate dance to avoid the wrath of my stepfather. I tread carefully, tiptoeing around his volatile temper, never knowing when the next outburst will come. Yet through it all, I cling to hope, to the belief that one day, the storm will pass, and we will find peace.

But for now, I am a child trapped in a world of fear and uncertainty, forced to navigate the treacherous waters of abuse and neglect. And though I may be small, my spirit is unbreakable, fueled by the desire to leave the walls, of hope that one day, I will break free from this nightmare.

Three years ago, my world shattered into a million pieces. That's when my biological dad left, abandoning us to start a new family elsewhere. His departure left a void in our lives, a painful emptiness that no amount of time could ever fill. I still remember the day he walked out the door, his promises of love and commitment ringing hollow in my ears. It felt like the ground beneath me had crumbled away, leaving me adrift in a sea of confusion and heartache. Now, in the midst of the chaos of our abusive household, his absence looms large, a constant reminder of betrayal and abandonment. But despite the pain, I've learned to survive.

Every morning, before the first light creeps through the curtains, my stepfather's heavy footsteps echo down the hallway, signaling the start of another grueling training session. At just ten years old, I should be dreaming of adventures in far-off lands, not wielding swords and knives in a battle for survival. But in our twisted reality, there's no room for childhood innocence.

With a stern voice and unyielding determination, he wakes me from my fragile slumber, his eyes burning with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. There's no room for excuses or hesitation as he thrusts weapons into my trembling hands, his demands ringing in my ears like a relentless drumbeat.

He's ruthless in his teachings, pushing me to the brink of exhaustion and beyond. Every mistake is met with a sharp reprimand, every faltering step greeted with a heavy sigh of disappointment. Yet, despite the fear that gnaws at my insides, I press on, fueled by a desperate desire to please him and earn his approval.

In his eyes, I am nothing more than a tool to be honed, a weapon to be wielded in his quest for dominance. But beneath the bruises and the scars, beneath the weight of his expectations, lies a flicker of defiance, a spark of resistance that refuses to be extinguished.

For as long as I can remember, I've been taught to fight. But now, as the dawn breaks over the horizon, I realize that the greatest battle of all is the one raging within me-a battle for my own identity, my own freedom, my own survival. And though the road ahead may be long and fraught with danger, I refuse to surrender to the darkness that threatens to consume me.

In the hushed predawn hours, before the sun paints the sky with its golden hues, I rise from my fitful slumber, my small frame heavy with exhaustion. The day begins long before dawn's first light, as I tiptoe through the darkness, careful not to disturb the silence that hangs heavy in the air.

But there is no respite for me in the stillness of the early morning, for my stepfather awaits, his shadow looming large in the dimly lit room. With a stern voice and unyielding resolve, he commands me to train-to fight, to wield weapons-as if I were a soldier preparing for battle. And so, from the moment my eyes flutter open to the world, until the clock strikes eight, I am his unwilling apprentice, forced to endure his relentless tutelage.

But it is not for my own sake that I endure this grueling regimen; no, it is for my mother-for her safety, her well-being-that I subject myself to such torment. For with each punch thrown and each weapon wielded, I am reminded of the dangers that lurk just beyond the Walls-the dangers that only he can protect us from, or so he claims.

And so, as the first rays of sunlight pierce the darkness, I bid farewell to the confines of our home and venture out into the world, a basket of vegetables clutched tightly in my trembling hands. It is a task I have grown accustomed to, a duty I perform not out of choice, but out of necessity.

For you see, most of the money I earn does not find its way into my mother's hands, where it rightfully belongs. Instead, it lines the pockets of my abuser, my stepfather-the man my mother married after my biological father left us, seeking solace in the arms of another.

In the bustling marketplace, amidst the vibrant colors and fragrant aromas of fresh produce, I stand with a quiet determination, my hands calloused from the toil of labor. With each vegetable carefully arranged before me, i wait patiently for the day's first customers, my gaze steady and unwavering.

But my work doesn't end at the marketplace. When the sun sets and the hustle and bustle of the day fade into the quiet of night, i return to the humble abode i call home. Here, amidst the simple comforts of hearth and home, i takes on yet another role-that of caretaker and provider.

With sleeves rolled up and apron tied tight, i move with a grace born of necessity, tending to the needs of my family with unwavering dedication. From scrubbing floors to chopping vegetables, from stirring pots to mending clothes, i tackles each task with a quiet efficiency that belies the weight of my burdens.

And though my days are long and my nights are short, i finds solace in the knowledge that my labor is not in vain. For with each vegetable sold and each meal cooked, i provides for my mother the one i love the most, offering her a measure of comfort and security in a world fraught with uncertainty.

Through the sweat and the tears, through the trials and tribulations that mark my journey, i remains steadfast in my resolve, a beacon of strength and resilience in the face of adversity. For i knows that no matter how daunting the challenges may seem, i'm more than capable of overcoming them, one vegetable at a time, one meal at a time, one day at a time.

In the midst of our tumultuous household, my mother's silent suffering weighs heavy on my young heart. Her once radiant smile has faded into a distant memory, replaced by a veil of sadness that shrouds her fragile frame. Depression clutches at her like a relentless beast, dragging her deeper into the abyss with each passing day.

I watch helplessly as tears trace silent rivers down her cheeks, her sobs echoing through the walls of our suffocating home. And though my own burdens threaten to overwhelm me, I am her constant companion in the darkness, offering what little comfort I can muster.

Every day, without fail, I wrap my arms around her trembling form, my small frame a feeble shield against the storm of despair that rages within her. I hold her close, whispering words of solace into the void, even as my own tears threaten to spill over.

But with each embrace, each shared moment of anguish, I am painfully aware of the price I must pay. For every tear that escapes my eyes, a blow from my stepfather's hand is sure to follow. And so, I swallow my own grief, burying it deep beneath a facade of strength, lest it draw his wrath upon us once more.

In the silence of our shared sorrow, I am both protector and prisoner, caught between the desperate need to comfort my mother and the fear of the consequences that await me should I dare to show weakness. And though the weight of our burden threatens to crush me, I cling to the hope that one day, we will find a way to break free from the chains that bind us and forge a path to a brighter tomorrow.