The Mental Patient

Chapter 2 - Everything is Gone

The rap-rap-rapture of thunderous footsteps are captured vibrant within the floor staves behind me. Before I have chance to turn and switch my defence mechanism of petrified to maximum capacity, my long-bedraggled hair is yanked backwards.

"You little fucker, have you been helping yourself to my cigarettes? You better answer me boy, before I really lose my temper." Drunken sputters are uttered whilst waving a Red-Marble cigarette packet in my face.

"No Dad... I swear... You're hurting me... Dad, you're on my hair." I bow to his coercion once more with my snivels; I stand there eyeing the beast, waiting for my purpose as the prey to become plausible and apparent, should I curl up and get jumped and squashed or shall I hurl my legs and run?

Out of nowhere, with a wham to the side of my face, I see blackness for an endless second; those trusty wooden floorboards always help break my headfirst fall. Seconds escape my minutes. Shaking off the jaw jab and now with this alluring headache, this is making a meal of my innards, the pain throbs slow and drags from one side of my skull to the other. I manage to knuckle down on the dry week-old food I haven't yet swept and rise as I always do, as a weak man, but this time to the howls and feeze from Jessica, the only one I am not forced to take care of in this Hell-house. The blood spills from my lips edge to the ground, it meanders through the cracks and worn-down indents of time in the laminate flooring as a snake's sway before it strikes at you.

I stumble through the murmur of birds tweeting around my eyes; the walls hoist my curious fearful intents, hand by hand, disturbing cased thoughts made worse by a worse case thought. Where am I going with this derailed train-of-thought?

The dramatic yelps escalate to seen scenes of screams and pain. I peer around our shared bedroom-skirting jamb; our father has her pretty face clamped in his fingered tusks whilst his other free hand he freely flings slaps with fighting force.

"You're fucking hurting her motherfucker!" Drastic drama calls for callous words and a pointed stern finger. I run for Gods throat, his beer and drug driven mind steers in my direction with robotic panache, his unflinching eyes roll around in their sockets, probably brewing a mixture of sick torture to love on to me. If there is one thing on this planet I will do, it is to protect Jessica, with all my strength to this cause, not that I have much to dish-out.

A fist flies ferocious for my face; I kiss the ground once again. Why has no one heard this grotesque commotion? Either they don't know, or they just don't give a shit.

When I come around, the blurs of my sight slur back to the almost murderous élan mundane, I witness my sister being dragged backwards by her hair; our father has gone off on one again. He stops sudden in his twisted trail from whatever misery he had planned, this is going to be bad, he kneels over the princess, his knees pinning both her arms to our bedroom floor, squashing her muscles and bones.

"So, you want to smoke my cigarettes, huh? You're going to regret picking up my bad habits, you motherfucking bitch." The tinge upon his last words fetches an unfathomable sinister shiver up my spine. He reaches into his pocket and latches on to his secretive cigarette packet, lights one up, sucks in the stick then exhales his asphyxiating amusement in smoke-form upon Jessica's face.

"You will both learn not to touch my things..." A wink is chucked at me, and the cancer-stick is jabbed onto Jessie's collarbone. She vomits such a painful wail, I bolt my hand around my shoulder, a burly ache constricts over the exact area of her dotted-out burn.

I can see her scratching her fingernails across the floor, she hocks in a swift shocked scream for the simple silence of a sufferer.

The moral line is in eye limit for Dad. No one moves or utters a single slither of a word. Shush is now the scream within the night, which shrieks back around when you don't want it to.

With his apish limbs, he hurls open the basement door; I can almost see Jessica's lungs as she retches them up. She's hated that place ever since he dug it, now we know why he did. By her wrangled ankles, she's dragged, thump by thump, down the stairs they go, thud, thud, thud; he and the darkness have her now; my best friend has been served to her nightmare.

In and out of consciousness, minutes seem as seconds, I distort in and out of what is real and not. As I lay there, oozing blood, an idea hovers over me and jags into my mind. Hell would wash its hooves with me as an idea of such devilish proportions has a happy eruption within me, it's as if a white light had slapped my chops; but I shall put my secret scheme in the psycho-drawer of my mind and come back to the land of the semi-living, for now.

Kill, kill, kill, until every drop is spilt, it's his own fault, with every brick he built, put aside your guilt and kill, kill, kill.

I could slash out my eyes to not witness anymore hurt; I do hear that if you lose one sense that your others heighten, if it ever does happen I pray for superpowers.

Suicide, suicide, on my mind all the time, everytime I close my eye I always dream of suicide, suicide.