Lola
I'm sitting in a very small space with wooden walls, my vision is hazy. I try to unlock the door to the wooden cage and find that it is locked. I realise that Papa must have put me in here as punishment again and I realise that no one is going to help me. I am five years old and the victim of cruel abuse. I try picking the lock with my hairpin when suddenly I hear loud footfalls that can only be Papa's. Suddenly I am afraid, my scars have not yet healed from last time and to have them once again ripped open by unloving hands would be torture in the worst way. I smell him before I hear him, he has a foul miasma that follows him around like a shadow, the sort that wilts flowers and burns noses. It's like gone-off vinegar, smoke, alcohol and sour milk mixed together. Then I feel his presence on the other side of the door and thank god for the plank of wood that's keeping me away from him. Papa's voice sends shivers down my spine and into my toes, "Lola," he jeers, his voice slurred "Lola, I can seeeeeeee you." he slurs as he puts his eye into a small gap in the wood, then he lights a match and shoves it through the hole. I scream as Papa walks away laughing to himself.
I wake up screaming in a cold sweat, shivering violently. Nothing can stop the dreams from coming but, they're not really dreams- they're memories.; every night since the day I got here and ten years later I still get them. I can still smell the foul odour of Papa and see his eye looking through the hole in the back of my mind.
Papa wasn't always like that, he used to be caring and humble but ever since the day Mama ran off with only a letter in her wake, he hasn't been the same. About 3 months after she left, he started to drink. Every night he would come home drunk after being in the pub. Soon after, he got angry and started taking it out on me, the day our house caught fire- he died too. I had managed to pick my way out of the cupboard with my life and bad burns on my legs. I ran downstairs and saw him sleeping on the sofa with a half empty bottle of beer in his hand. tried to save him, I really did but my legs burnt too much from the fire and my lungs burnt too much from the smoke so I left him there, oblivious to the fact he was staring Death in the face.
It's a Sunday which means no lessons and 'fun' sessions instead. I don't know what their definition of fun is here but it certainly isn't the right one. Luckily during the day Maria and I had the same free periods and we got to work on our signing. I feel so happy when I'm with Maria, sometimes a meaningful silence is better than meaningless words.
We sit cross-legged on the floor in my dorm learning our sign language from a book we found in the library and I tell her about my past and she listens silently. Halfway through my story my eyes tear up and she signs to me that I don't have to continue but I want to confide in someone so I carry on. I tell her about the day Mama left with only a letter left behind, explaining that she had fallen in love with another man. I told her about the fire and the nightmares every night, I told her about the days when Papa was kind and Mama was there for us. She listened and comforted me, holding me close when my eyes welled up with tears, I am so lucky to have a friend like Maria, one that listens to the words that come out of my mouth rather than ignore them. Thank God for her, thank god for Maria.
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Chapter 6, tell me if you liked it, vote and comment please!!!!
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Maria
PertualanganMaria lost her parents in a terrorist attack, since then she has become a mute. She has not said anything since the day she came out of her coma 7 years ago. She doesn't speak so instead she lets herself be captivated by the adventures of others an...
