Echoes of Empathy

A Hope

The dishes crash to the floor, the sound reverberating through the house, amplifying the shouts and screams. They’re louder, angrier than ever, filling every corner, every inch of space. The echoes creep into my room, even through the barrier of my worn-out earbuds.

With a sigh, I take them out and press record on my phone. It’s a habit by now. I need something to prove this later, even though I know deep down it won’t make a difference.

I push open my door and step into the hallway, the familiar tension tightening my stomach. When I reach the living room, the sight freezes me in place. My father stands over my mother, rage twisting his face, his hand clenched as he towers above her; Her tear-streaked face smeared with pain. The bruise on her arm is fresh, the purple already darkening. She’s hunched, silent, defeated. It’s like watching a terrible scene on repeat, one I’ve seen too many times.

Is this what life is supposed to be? Struggle, after struggle, after struggle? Fights every day since I was a kid? Does everyone live like this?

Without thinking, I step into the fight, reaching for my father’s hand as he raises it again.

“Please, Dad,” I say, my voice shaking. “Please, just… leave her alone."

My father’s gaze snaps to me, a storm of fury flashing in his eyes. “Alisha,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous. “Stay out of this. Don’t come between us.”

Before I can respond, he shoves me back, and I stumble, hitting the floor hard. The pain shocks through me.

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to scream, to cry.

Is this what a kid must go through? Is this my life? Why me?

The questions whirl in my mind, the weight of them pressing down, smothering any hope left.

I want to give up. I want to disappear, to end this endless cycle of pain and fear. Why am I alive? Why can’t I be brave enough to just end it?

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Later that night, long after the fighting stops and the house falls silent, I find myself staring at the glow of my phone screen, feeling numb. An idea comes to me, a small, fragile hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could find someone to talk to. Someone who might understand. Someone who could finally hear me.

Will I find friends if I chat online? Will they be good people? Will I finally be able to share my feelings with someone? Will I finally be able to trust someone?

I take a deep breath, clutching onto the hope that maybe, somewhere out there, someone might actually listen.

I open a chat app, hands trembling as I type. Please enter a username. I stare at the blank space, thinking for a moment before I start typing.

Alisha0_0

I hesitate before pressing enter. But something inside pushes me forward, like a small spark of courage I didn’t know I still had.

There. I made one. Now... let's just see what happens.