Personal Narrative: The Abuse Of My Father

HER

IT WAS 5 years ago. I remembered her arms; gently wrapped around my shoulders while we lounged on the golden sand dunes, listening to the tranquility of the ocean’s call. She told me stories about him, about the father I never knew. The tears in her eyes always glistened whenever she talked about him. I was always drawn to that far away look in her eyes and the sight of her always made me feel at ease. I always believed it’ll be us just the two forever, but she had been fighting an illness and lost the battle. Before she left, she had promised my stepfather, Oliver, most of her land and property. All she had left in my possession was a silver heart-shaped locket that I cherished each day. Although the latch had sealed the locket completely shut, but that didn’t bother me at all. I wept as she was put to rest, because that day, I had lost my best friend.

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I had awoken to the sound of a crow. The summer rays streamed in through my bedroom window. There was a sudden slam on my bedroom door. Confused and annoyed, my stepdad grunted aggressively and slammed on the door once more. He got out his leather belt and whipped me with it. When she left, I felt as if a huge burden weighed me down. The abuse of my stepfather had left irremovable scars, both physically and

The pungent aroma of the deceased cattle smacked me in the face as soon as I stepped out. It was almost impossible to find my way towards the barn as the fog thickened. The barn was on the verge of collapsing and dead leaves and hay were messily scattered all over the barn’s floor. To keep my mother’s farm standing, I worked tirelessly each day. I took care of the barn animals, watered and harvested crops and made sure the gardens were flourishing with fruits and vegetables. It reminded me of the farm work we did together and of all the sacrifices she’d made for the