I was making dinner - again
For five years, I had been making dinner. For five years, I had been buying my own principle. For five years, my grades were dropping. For five years, my parents were dysfunctional. Nothing but no good drunkards, seeing me as nothing but a slave. My life consisted of waking up, making breakfast for them, arriving at school late, going home and doing what a normal parent would do. It's been this way since I was ten.
At ten years old, my dad showed his true colours and they were red. A blur of red rage and crimson droplets on the floor, something I became too familiar with. Then, my mum showed her true colours, they were whatever she was drinking that day. A withering slate of sorrow overwhelmed her, but I couldn't bring myself to give her any pity. I'd have to lose all my sanity to forgive them. I'd have to get rid of all the scars they gave me, forget all the bruises that faded away and take back all my blood they shed.
The sun was close to setting and I dumped the spaghetti onto three plates. I picked up two and put them on the tiny and rotting dining table. As I went back to get mine, mutely, my parents sat down and started eating. I put my plate on the table and sat down. My whole body tensed, they glanced at me but carried on eating. My shaking hand lifted my fork, I picked up some spaghetti and brought it to my mouth - it was disgusting.
I sucked it up and ate. I didn't finish. "What're you doing?" My dad asked, venom trailing each word, "wasting the food I bought with my money," he scowled at me and I avoided eye contact. I looked out to a window, the sun was hiding its head, not wanting to be witness to what was about to happen. The moon, however, it stood tall, looking down at us. A crow landed in a tree and stared through the window. Its beady, black eyes caught mine, unblinking. Rugged feathers, empty eyes, sharpened claws and scarred beak. I hadn't ever seen a crow like it.
My dad stood up and leaned over the table, "answer me!" He shouted, alcohol streaming through his breath. The strong smell pierced my nose. He grabbed my arm and pulled me so I stood up, I tried pulling away from him, but it was no good. "Why can't you just be perfect?" He asked, raising his hand, then, bringing it down to hit me across the face. I closed my eyes and stayed quiet, what else could I do?
I looked back out the window, the crow, still there, screeched and another landed next to it. The new crow bit at the other. They exchanged bites until the original flew away, still staring at me. "Just, be perfect!" Dad roared at me again, hit me again, again and again. It was always like this, this was home to me. A place where I felt like I didn't belong. A rotting place that only brought pain and bad habits. There was nothing homely about this place, I lived there, but it didn't feel like it.
What else could I do? I looked back at my dad, a man full of hatred and nothing else. He kept me, nothing but a prisoner, here, not taught to have dreams or hope. Why did he do it? Craziness, sadness or revenge? Revenge. I hadn't understood until now that the feeling that word gave me was hope, I was forever a stranger to it, until now. Hope brought dreams, my only dream, was to be free. I grabbed his wrist and kicked at his legs. I pulled his arm off me and I ran. I ran until my legs went numb and failed.
I dropped onto the sand, underneath a blanket of planets and comets. A neighbour to the sea, a home of mystery and wonder. Behind me, darkness. I looked over at the ocean and saw a seal come up and quickly drop down. Nothing held it back, it was free to do whatever it wanted. Freedom. Hope. Home.
Home was wherever freedom was.
Wherever I could breathe air that didn't smell of vodka.
A place I didn't have to hide my face.
Didn't that just make sense?
All my life I was a prisoner.
On a dark beach.
On the land of solitude.
I'm finally free.
