Just a Girl

My "Home"

Home, what is home? Some think of home as a place warm and inviting, a shelter where someone's domestic affections are centered more precisely. That this is a place where they sleep at night and that protects them from a storm. But to me that is not a home.

My home is not of this sweet nature. My home is a place where the storms reside. A place of torture and horror. A place that I do not want to stay but run away from. This "home" does not comfort me, it's a place where my dad releases his anger and takes it out on me. Where he yells endlessly about nothing at all.

And where finally he bestows his hardly clenched hand on the soft hollows of my cheek. Repeatedly he smashes the only part of me that doesn't feel the hurt of life, until it too, like the rest of me, becomes dark and gloomy. He thrashes me around in his hands that he has gripped upon my shoulders, and throws me up against the wall like I'm a two pound doll, watching as my body uncurls from his grasp and hearing my back, then shoulders, then my head crack against the wall.

He asks, "Now Syrena, you un hearted two faced bitch, you gone done put a dent in the wall. Get up from the ground you lazy, good for nothing child, and go to the kitchen like the sweet hearted girl you are." As he says this he has a deep cringed smile firmly placed about his face, and three black holes on his body. Two in his eyes and one where his heart is supposed to be.

I look back up at him with my blue-green eyes, as they slowly fill with tears. Although I try to hold the tears back, they keep filling until I finally explode, with tears streaming down my face. I cup my hands in my face hoping no one would see my bloody, bruised, and tear lined face. I run up the stairs in a bolt, almost tripping up the stairs two or three times, as I could not see through the blurred vision of my tears. I reach the top step and flung open the door as hard as I could, smashing it into the wall, then with vengeance and tears in my eyes I look down the stairs at my dad, who seems to be enjoying the sadness of his daughter. I took the side of the door and slammed it with a strength so powerful that when the door reached its frame, I heard the splintering of the wood as it bent to hold the door from flying of the hinges. I throw myself upon my bed, it cushioning the weight of my heavy hearted body. My body seizes into it's relapse of screams intertwined with my mental break downs and heavy crying.

I lie face down on my bed, into a pillow my mom made me when I was younger. I reminded me of her as in some way, it still smelled like her. The pillow was pink and blue with green trim. It said "hope" on the face of it, and although she had made it some 4 years ago, it looked as if she made it yesterday, but that was not possible. I look up to her every now and then, hoping she could help me, and wishing I could just lay in her arms one more time, wanting and needing to hear the sound of her soothing voice, that of a bluejay which sings glorious tunes to its children. Wishing I could behold her youthful olive toned face one more time, I slowly sob until I run out of tears to cry, and lay heaving into what I have left of the person who could once make me happy in life. As I lay thinking of her I slowly fade into blackness, it fully encompassing me in it's sweet and dark forgetfulness.

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Btw this part was with the help of a good anonymous friend...thank you!!