It wasn't supposed to be like this. With my back pinned against the wall and my hands above my head, tears spilling from my eyes as he took me over the edge once again.
" You're a mystery, Sarah." I sob out, my breasts bouncing from each of his thr...
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It was a gift and a curse to be given my imagination.
In my mind, life could be painted any way I wanted it to. The gunshots were just the beat of loud music, the blood was just red wine spilled by my friends, and my father was just that, a father.
Somehow, this vision changed and I was awoken into reality. I had to face what the horrifying truth of my life actually was.
I thought to myself that things might just seem so bad because I make them seem bad. Perhaps I was overreacting to how bad life seemed. I know there are people out there on the streets, but is that really worse than Father's house?
The life I wanted seemed as if it was just within my reach, but I could never grasp it. It was such a frustrating feeling that I often felt like crying over.
But that is forbidden, and I know that makes me weak.
But sometimes, the shackles on my wrist melted away into a palette and brush, a hideaway of my own. This hideaway of mine was much more peaceful, the only word I could use to describe it would be tranquility.
It was the feeling of sun shining on your face with fresh grass under your feet, or the feeling of floating in an open ocean surrounded by the sky, or perhaps it would be the feeling of being inside a canvas with the characters I longed for.
Ayla was the only one who knew of my hideaway and she never judged me for it, she gifted me this set. A beautiful, perfect set. The best gift I had ever received. Shades of every color from light to dark and brushes from fine to coarse, it was the perfect tool to paint my life.
The life I longed for.
I've kept my hideaway hidden behind closed doors, under a loose tile in the bathroom that always stays locked. Father could never find out this way.
My hands move on their own accord, minutes turn into hours and the gunshots resonating in the house become silent.
The feeling of tranquility washes away, the feeling of sun on my face, the freedom of the ocean drowns out until I am left with a racing heart and panic for a new day when only a pair of eyes stare back at me.
Eye that showed the truth of one's existence, the windows of our soul.
Eyes that had lashes reflecting in its orbs, a green so dark it looked like mother nature crafted it herself, eyes that hold kindness and love, wrinkles surrounding the eye not from stress, but from smiles.
My hands don't stop painting the beautiful image until light fills in the room and I realize the night has turned into day. Exhaustion laces my body, but when I look into the eyes I painted, I know it was worth it.
These eyes were what I prayed to look at one day, eyes of a father I could never have.
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