Wishing For So Many Things At Once

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When we finally got to my hell-hole of a home, the sun had set and stars twinkled in the sky. No moon lit up the sky, therefore, I couldn't see Devin's face.

"So, tomorrow?" I asked, hoping the answer would be yes.

"Yup!" he answered.

Relief swept through me. I was going tomorrow. I could see the sunset again. I started to leave when, "Wait!"

I turn around, "What?"

"How have you never seen the sunset before?" he asked. Someone finally came to their senses.

"Don't ask," I replied.

Tears starting to fall harder, I walked inside. I opened the door a crack and a series of shouts and angry yells sprang at me. I knew Devin still stood behind me so I quickly turned around and explained, "They're drunk," And at that he nodded, understanding.

The sad thing is, he would never know that my parents didn't drink. Or do drugs.

I quickly stepped inside. The first thing I saw was blurs of the room. Mother had slapped me. I rubbed my face where she hit me.

"Care to tell me where you've been?!"

"I've been at tutoring, you said I could go," I said. She slapped me again.

"DONT SASS ME!!! ROOM, NOW!!!"

I hurried to my room with tears rushing down my face. Why were they so mean? Why did my parents hate me?

I suppose I should explain. My parents weren't even married when they "did it". They "did it" every night. Even after dear old mom was pregnant with me, until they found out of course. Dad tried to leave but mom wouldn't let him. So he stayed and they got married. Probably the most irritable couple I've met.

They both really wanted a son. So when they found out I was a girl, they became even more irritable. Once I was born, they neglected me- refusing to give me up for some reason. The neighbors took care of me and taught me to do things til I could do basic things on my own. Now my parents abuse me, all because they wanted a son. And the neighbors are my best friends. But the thing is, they always made sure I was in before the sun set. They would lock me in my "room" before nightfall. Therefore, I've never seen the sun set.

I walk into the place my family calls my room. A bundle of sheets and a pillow that I call my bed sits in the corner. A dirty, square, pink rug sits in the center of the floor. My attempt at decorating. Let's just say that my room is like a jail cell, only with no windows, a light hanging from the low ceiling in the center, and below ground-level. A sigh escapes me, followed with a sob.

I head back upstairs and lock my door. I then head back downstairs and another sob escapes me. I set up my sad excuse for a bed, laid down on it, and cried myself to sleep.

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