Leaving Home - Original Writing

Leaving Home - Original Writing

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Leaving Home - Original Writing

It was the last time I saw my Mother. My grieving pain for my mothers
love infinitely grew. She was god in my eyes but was I the god given
daughter she had hoped for? Everyday I had run to her absorbing her
warmth as I wrapped my long limbs around her waist. The waist that had
carried me for nine months, but was I worth the wait? Mother’s
predictable great force would transfer into my weakened bones forcing
me to collapse onto the striped wooden floor. I would land with a thud
hoping that the chances of me receiving a hug the next day would
increase. Maybe my accidental escape was for the best. Perhaps I was
destined for this moment, this was fait in the palms of my hand,
waiting for me to reach out and snatch the opportunity. Mother had
snatched my rights to live as a normal human being away. It was
forbidden for me to even talk to her. I needed permission. I told my
self through every breath that everything would end up right, I was
right.

Rain, rain everywhere. Summer had died out, until next year. Autumn
had approached me. My memory remained in the happy days but my
solidified body moved on with life. My inner self, deep down, stands
proud and fearless to this world creation signed to god. I always
believed that if god brings you to it, he will bring you to it.

I was eight. I was blessed with the perfect parents. Both their hearts
were fulfilled with love and care. Every moment was heavenly. I lived
in an averaged sized, 3-bedroom apartment in what was considered
‘normal.’ It was good enough for me. The oval shaped window revealed
its outer secrets, the growing towers bordered with a beautiful
skyline.

Father was a man of great expectations. A man of many wise words. His
broad shoulders would easily swing me from side to side like a wild
hungry lion ripping and swinging his possession; his raw meat.

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In my
case I was the loving prey for my Father, the predator, the bread
winner of the family. I was his little princess.

Mother was a lady, petite sized with a facial appearance carved from
the clouds up above, the clouds in heaven. Mother was a woman who
glowed with love for me. Her greatest asset was her silky, black locks
that matched her thinly waxed eyebrows which also complimented her
brown tan.

One day, for the first time every Mother and Father were in their
bedroom raving. It wasn’t a common sign which usually are positive. I
could hear smashing and slamming against the walls. My ears sensed
danger. They were noises that I had never heard before. The sense of
love that flowed like a river through the air had shattered into
broken pieces like corrupted glass which were non-fixable. I could
barely make out what was being said. My distraction towards the
aromatic spices and herbs from the kitchen flew up my tempted nose.
The cuisine had blended with my tears of sadness. I couldn’t
understand, everything used to be perfect, what could have happened?
Before the argument I had thought of Mother’s voice as a relaxing
tone, music being played from a magical flute that only she could
master. Then the tables had turned. My voice seemed as sweet as sugar
compared to mothers. Hers was now flat and dull. The lifeless
mono-tone wasn’t Mother at all. It was as if a Hoover had vacuumed out
the energy, the encouragement, the enthusiasm.

I thought that the past argument was normal for all married couples
until it became a trend. To see physical fighting would be less
painful than my pain. It felt as if a needle had attempted to pierce
its way through my heart but got stuck leaving never ending pain. The
trend became daily. The light ore around both my parents, especially
Mother, had faded into the dark shadows. As everyday passed the hatred
between the two grew and grew. Mother’s once soft, tanned skin mounted
with make up for affect had altered to a yellow, pale colour. I
preferred Mother without make up but it was far better then seeing
Mother like this. She didn’t even attempt to make her self look
better. You could tell by the way that she lounged around the house
that she was too lazy to even care. Mother would sit on the Indian
decorated sofas which stood out. The black, long shiny hair had also
moved on to knotted tangles. Personally I blame the bottles containing
alcohol that Mother used to wash down accompanied with her
finger-sized cigarettes. I would watch her drown her sorrows as the
booze over took her mind flooding her inner self with this poison.

Mother’s behavior began to really show. As much as I detested my life
I loved it. Half of my heart, the candy half, told me everything would
be fine and to carry on loving Mother but the other half, the cold
half, would send messages to my brain whispering in my ears for me to
leave. To escape! Escape to where though? All the pressure from my
parent’s constant arguments was too much for me to handle. My
sensitive brain was over powered. The repeated parrot phrase ‘leave
home’ would haunt me in my dreams. Everyday before bed time I would
bend my legs, clasp my hands tightly together so pearls of sweat would
form. I would pray to god with devotion asking for him to solve my
problems. I wished to exit my world of stress and tension. I never
gave up. I waited and waited and waited…

The day came unexpectedly. With care I would drift pass Mother’s
negative energy. Deep down my love grew towards Mother no matter what
she was. Mother was soft and sweet like gum on the inside but her
hardened shell took over on the outside. She was brainwashed. I was
always alert of every sharp movement she made, every sligh glance she
gave me in the corner of her beady camera eyes, every snarl she would
utter under her rotten breath. I quickly limped across the carpet like
a sneaky mouse to find my self in front of the powerful door. I called
it the ‘deciding door’ as it decided weather I should leave the house
and never return. On the way I had passed the rose red, ribena stain
from when I spilt my glass on the floor. Mother had rescued me from
injury. The memories were so fresh in my mind. It was as if it were
yesterday.

As I opened the door, the invisible wind flew in and out of my ears
sending shivers up and down my spine as if an elevator were traveling
to different floors. I would stand there shivering, imagining myself
in Mothers arms. The whole of my Indian coloured skin would cover in
goose bumps, each individual one containing a hair all stood up equal
sized looking like they were under commandment in an army.

My first step onto the African rug could have been my last. I wished.
My long legged limbs would co-operate together so I could travel to
where I wished to travel. They were under my instructions. I reached
the pavement on the sides of the roads. As the first car lead the rest
my heat rotated at a ninety degree angle to the right. No cars in
sight. As I reached mid point in the road an internal feeling of
sickness approached me. I looked down to find no blood. My
consciousness was fading vastly. As I tried to demand my legs to get
up they laid there lifelessly. I blinked once, the blue sky. I blinked
twice, half the sky. I blinked 3 times, nothing…
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