| Biographical Non-Fiction posted October 31, 2023 | Chapters: |
...42 43 -44- 45... 
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The flies on the wall... Age 16
A chapter in the book Ghost
No body's Child
by Lea Tonin1
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
It is with a tripping heart and trembling fingers I write this next chapter.
I cannot give way to rampant feelings for fear it will temper my writing and steer it to a place none of us want to go.
Between remembrance of the mind and remembrance of the heart, there is a delicate balance.
Step back... breathe...Give the facts out as best as I can.
I can't stop all the old feelings.
Nor the tears...
With my middle standing straight up I write....
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"Are you ready?" I took my sister's bag wrapping my hand over hers to try and reassure her but hers was cold and clammy. Her eyes overwhelmed her pale face with a pleading. I know that look...we are closely familiar.
"We have no choice now, the only thing we can do is stay out of his way and be very quiet, do exactly what we're told. It won't be forever and we'll be gone." She looked at me nodded and walked slowly over to Opa's car.
Both of us were fidgeting in our seats knees bouncing, looking around our faces pinched eyes shining with fear. The closer we got to the house, the more I saw my sister fade behind her eyes. When we got to the house, she was gone. Only her shell sat quietly in her seat. Perhaps it's better for her that way to retreat and wait for the bombing to be over. She never did fully come back after that.
Parts of her remain lost in her mind. For me, the closer we got to the house. The deeper my rage burned.
That rage kept me from following my sister and slipping away too. A stubborn something inside me still had its middle finger up. Such a nice finger.
"Don't leave your stuff on the landing. Put it away."
The familiar growl sent my spine crawling. Down the stairs, we went into our old room and put our stuff away. I stood up with my sister and knew we had to get up there for orders.
Standing in front of him we waited. He sighed dropped his newspaper and looked up.
"What are you standing there for? You're not here for summer vacation you know, get to work."
"Waiting for instructions," I said. He got up from his chair distended his middle knuckle and punched me in the head.
"Don't get smart with me! You know damn well what the chores are!"
I hated him so fucken much at that moment, I was shaking in anger. And my mother...gone as usual.
I started the wash and as I did, I considered patricide. I could understand very well how a child could be driven to such a thing.
I had visions of him begging for his life while I held a knife to his throat. But wanting a thing and doing a thing for me would not connect and knew I could never do it.
I spent the next two days in that basement doing nothing but laundry.
It didn't take too long before the starvation punishment was re-introduced. My sister didn't put something away in the right spot.
No supper, but he didn't stop there. No, he went and got McDonald's. Putting it on the kitchen table made her sit down on the floor forcing her to watch us eat.
The cruelty, the mind games, the name-calling, and the punching all started up like it never went away.
I had a new hatred though towards my mother. A long time coming I think. Her indifference, Her lack of maternal instincts, Her narcissism and selfishness, and her willingness to throw us to the wolves without even looking back.
She was also armed with a boatload of excuses for why her children were bad. But most of all her failure to protect us.
And it pains me so much to say. I hate her more now than I ever did. They called themselves human. I called them monsters with a human guise.
We deteriorated fast. Weight loss, haunted eyes. Terror for breakfast lunch and dinner.
"I've got to get us out...quickly." I thought. "He's slowly killing us"
My mother and my stepfather have decided they liked it better without kids in the house and we're diligently making plans to get rid of us.
How...remains to be seen.
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That was probably the most dangerous time we had to face. Filled with malevolence, hatred and pain, we lived in it daily...
I put my hands to my face...felt the tears. Slowly I wipe them away and tell myself...it's over.
Story of the Month contest entry
 Recognized |
The story is part of an ongoing auto bio called "Ghost." It can be found in my portfolio should you wish to read it. You are welcome too. Please note, some chapters are hard to read. Reader discretion advised.
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