Drabbles and Containment by A Forum User

Drabble Twenty-Seven - If She'd Never Met The Boys

#27

~Sang~

Mama was a bit naive,

And her Daddy was a blinded thief,

He went and stole away what was left,

Of the remains of a family.

I was shaking; I slid down the door, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to ignore the pain in my ribs. A lesson I knew now: never go outside. Never, without Mother's permission. How could she not see that not all people were evil?

'Dad' never helped. Leaving us, for that other family. He was a thief, taking away every possible chance of a childhood. I felt a warm tear trickle down my cheek and brushed it away roughly.

Crying never helped. It couldn't. Didn't stop me from doing it though.

She'd hide away behind a door,

She kept locked,

But the walls weren't thick enough to,

Block out, angry noises of the voices,

That once soothed her to sleep.

I heard thudding coming up the stairs and reached up quickly to lock the door. The footsteps stopped outside the door, and I made my breathing deep and regular to make her believe I was asleep. They moved on.

The time of the divorce was the worst, when Mother started hitting, when they started shouting.

Sometimes, before, I'd have odd recollections of them hugging me, kissing my forehead before I went to sleep, taking care of me when I was sick. That all stopped when Mother started to become ill herself. When Dad started drinking, leaving us.

And she lies, tonight,

Underneath a caving roof,

And she cries, tonight,

Wondering what she can do,

And she tries, tonight,

Remembering who she once knew,

But they've died, inside,

Another empty bottle takes a life.

I crawled into my bed, still hugging my knees, wincing as I breathed. Oh god my ribs hurt. Tears started slipping down my face. I felt trapped, lost in a room slowly collapsing around me.

But what can I do to stop it?

I tried to bring up a recollection of the sweet people I once called my parents. But they weren't there anymore.

The sickness, the drinking, all those empty bottles; pill bottles; alcohol bottles; they'd stolen them away.

This world can be so cruel,

She lives her life as a broken tool,

And she believes she's unable to fix,

This broken machine, and what's the use,

To throw yourself at love,

If in the end it never seems enough,

To be able to get through all of life's broken dreams?

I realized that, that they were broken. I was too. Of course I was, if I couldn't fix them.

If I couldn't make friends, couldn't find anyone to love, to love me. None of it worked.

She watched her father live in regret,

Heard her mother cry in an empty bed,

And she swears,

This is the best life gets.

I knew my father regretted marrying mother, I knew my mother regretted him leaving her, from the sobbing coming from her room sometimes.

But this was the best it was ever going to get.

And she lies, tonight,

Underneath a caving roof,

And she cries, tonight,

Wondering what she could do,

And she tries, tonight,

But she's out of memories,

That she once knew,

And she dies, inside,

Another empty bottle takes a life.

And I'm in my bed, with those walls closing in around me, tears flooding my face, knowing I can do nothing. I try so hard, as hard as I can to remember something better. But I can't.

A shudder wracks through my body, every inch of me, and I know I've lost myself. I've died inside myself.

I feel empty, hollow, lost. I feel like there's something that should be there that isn't.

All those empty bottles. They've not only taken them, they've finally taken me too.

And every little bit, every little bit,

Of her wants to see that light,

But every single night,

Another little bit of her dies inside,

She's trapped in her mind.

I want something better, nicer. I want peace. I'll never find it though, and slowly chips form in me. Cracks. Like a delicate piece of glass one knock away from losing it.

I'm inside myself, trapped alone, in a dark room with no lights.

I stand up. I've made my decision. I need out.

She feels more alive,

She feels more alive,

In her own dreams,

And she's wondering,

What's beyond the sky,

Could she see the light,

If she falls asleep?

Cause she feels more alive,

In her own dreams.

Life isn't worth it. If I'm more alive in my own head, what's the point? Maybe there's something else. Maybe there isn't. I just need out. I creep past, into my mother's bathroom, and collect pills.

I don't know which. I don't know whether they'll work.

I just need out.

I slip back into my bedroom. I think about writing a note. But who would read it and care?

So I uncap the bottles. I don't read the labels.

I sit myself on the bed.

I throw a handful of all these pretty, multicolored pills that were going to kill me into my mouth. I swallow.

So tonight, she lies,

Lifted up through her own roof,

Dried eyes, tonight,

There's nothing more,

That she could do,

And they cry, tonight,

A daughter that they hardly knew,

And she's lost, in time,

Another empty bottle takes a life.

I feel myself slipping away. I'm lost in time. Maybe my mother would cry. Maybe my father would find out and cry for the daughter he never bothered to know.

I'm lost. All those empty bottles.