My footsteps were heavy, the faster I paced, the more I felt the devil was dragging me back towards the hellfire ablazing within the home I'd once treasured and the home I now despised. They say family is a privilege, the only agency to influence one, to construct a person for whom they really are, the only agency one can fully depend on. Absolute crap that is. My cynicism may seem irrational but there's really nothing worse than entering a house full of people, but empty with affection. It was a lugubrious night, a simple resemblance on my dire emotions.
Trudging through the soaked streets smothered with the cries of the sky, I felt a sense of numbness overthrow me. There was a satisfaction in being alone - after all, that was all I knew - being secluded, isolated from every being and every thing. There was a form of comfort in being engulfed by the still, dreary night. The city streets grew illuminated with the dim streetlights as if they were guiding me on a path I was unable to create for myself. As the only brightness held within my life at that given moment, I followed. I followed until my feet ached with overexertion, until the physical pain overpowered the emotional, until I collapsed with a harsh thud, my knees scraping against the coarse concrete pavement, punching me back into the reality I'd been so desperate to escape.
I lay there, in an awkward position, my hands splayed out above my pounding head and my legs bent in opposite directions as if they'd been dislocated. I could not move. I could not speak. I could not feel. This was torture in every sense, but at the same time, it was ecstasy. Pure, languorous, deserved ecstasy. My blood, seeping out with a black, dismal tint stained my body as I lay; I could feel the blood which held my family's DNA and all I'd inherited gushing out onto the pavement, and finally, I felt a sense of freedom. A sense of detachment, a sense of disassociation, a sense of escape. It was relieving to say the least, any form of discharge separated me from my corrupt family piece by piece.
Perhaps I stayed in that position for an hour, maybe two listening intently to the distant sounds of nothingness and lying as if I were in a vegetative state. Throwing myself up all at once with no consideration, I'd realised how pointless this all really was. As my limbs were sore with agony, I stumbled back, the sudden momentum impacting my train of thought and movement. Grasping onto the lamppost on my right for balance, I took a moment to recollect myself. 'What was I doing? Where am I?' The street lights had dimmed further, yet were blinding.
The path I'd once followed forward, I followed back. Trudging through the remains of the soaked streets smothered with the cries of the sky, I felt a sense of determination overthrow me. There was a satisfaction in being accompanied, having someone to talk to, someone to laugh with. As the sun began to rise, as the smell of petrichor invaded my senses, there was a glimpse of hope within me. My footsteps grew lighter; the faster I paced, the more it felt the angels were guiding me back to the home rooted with reconciliation. I'd arrived at my street, and the excitement mixed with anxiety rushed over me, my footsteps becoming more eager and eager until it felt as if I elevating onto thin air. Finally, I'd reached my destination. This could not be real. This could not be real.
My footsteps ceased, as I stood aghast with horror. The flames of hellfire that were once figurative, had now become literal.
