Part One
There is a lot of things running through my head right now, most wanting to burst out and escape but some wishing to hide and cower deep in the darkest recesses of my mind.my father wanted to hide in the end, but sometimes he burst out.
Im staring at it right now. the gravestone I mean. Its very quiet, all around, people expecting me to drop a large bunch of flowers onto the lid of the empty coffin. The gravestone is dark, almost black, with strange greyish and whitish rivers running all over it, and whiter writing engraved on the front.
The writing should be longer, explaining everything he did and why he should never have had a gravestone or a funeral or a name because of all that he did do. My Father. But there isn't. Nobody wants to remember him for what he actually did, at least, almost nobody. Even this funeral is a secret, and they'd stop it if they could, or attack and kill all of us.
Most of us deserve to be dead. After everything. But there is no proof, nothing to make us guilty of everything we did. I never tried to do what they all did, but I will still always be guilty of what I didn't do. And I didn't tell anyone, almost.
I never believed the reasons why my Father took control and acted the way he did. But he was still my Father, not in love or home, even culture, but in blood.
They say blood is thicker than water. And that's true, I remember it everywhere, spilling and washing the floor which was already bloody and thick, only you couldn't see it with your eyes. The blood belonged to my mother and him. We never meant anything to him, me and my mother. Just slaves. And most of the time, he didn't even call us by our names, but whatever insult slunk from his repulsive, sadist mind.
I look down at the grave again. On the stone it says my father's name, but he doesn't even deserve a name, only the darkest thoughts from the back of your mind.
If you mention my fathers name to anyone today they will feel anger and pain, if they are good. But some with black hearts will feel he did right and just. There is nothing right and just in what my father did, only cruelty and violence.There was nothing I could do to stop him. That man would have treated me like the many others that couldn't find a way to harm him.
You look below the name, and you see something that means a lot to many people. Dates, and dates can be good and bad and mean more than you know. The first date is 'March 10th 1987'.
A birthday is very special, even to him. But the world would have spun in a whole other direction if that day never happened, if something went wrong to my grandmother. It was none of her fault. Nothing was. But people do find it so hard not to blame her, and they do.
March is beautiful month. Full of Spring and life where I sit typing this now. Looking out the window there are flowers, trees and birds. Birds have spirit, they are full of life. To many people today aren't.
Your should value life. Especially the life of everyone around you. Father never valued most of his family. Only used them and us.
The 10th.Tenth. Ten. Ten is the base of our number system. Other people are born on the tenth, important people, Tsar Alexander III, Kim Campbell, Prince Edward and Chuck Norris, and hundreds more who matter. Lots of them are good, but some bad and you cant help that, but you can help who you are.
