AE & TR

11/11/19

Pills & Pain

The pain in my back triggers the realization that I’ve been leaning on the counter for the past couple of hours. The sun starts to shine through the poster covered windows, and Mark hands me a ten from that night’s shift. I head to the grimy bathrooms, walls with patched stains of who knows what. I look in the foggy mirror to fix my hair since I haven’t brushed it in days, only to notice the dark crescents under my eyes. The right one is barely noticeable since it’s hidden behind the purple and blue bruise from two nights ago, which was the last mark she put on me. I take my frizzy black hair out of the loose bun I put in earlier just to put it up again. The beige stained shirt reeked of coffee. Not even bothering to fold it, I stuff the shirt into my backpack and slip on the knit amber sweater that has been worn for the past five days. My “thank you” to Mark was covered by the ring of the bell hanging over the door. As I open it, the sharp winter air stings my fingers and numbs my ears. The naked tree branches sag from the weight of the snow and shattered beer bottles lined the curbs of the streets. As I walk, I stare at my no longer white shoes trying my best not to lift my left big toe, otherwise, the top would flip up. Thankful I don’t have to go back to the apartment with empty pill bottles covering the table, with a few spilled left for me to pick up. A shivering breeze pushes me from behind and I become completely numb from the cold on the outside, but I only wish it could numb me inside.

The only thing I wanted to do was help her, but it wasn’t that simple. The quick, painful, blurry memories of her swinging at me in the kitchen, trembling, hands tucked behind my head, hoping it would be over soon. A car zooms past me pulling my hair across my face, bringing me back to the present. As I approach the school, I inhale and don’t exhale, scared that if I do, the dam holding back my river of tears won’t hold. Shaking, I gather all the courage I contain to step through the doors. Eyes glued to the floor, I slide my feet across the tiles, making a squeaking sound with each step I take. Every so often I glance to my side when I hear my name whispered throughout the halls, wondering how the incident got out so quickly. The long sympathetic looks people give me only make me feel worse. I haven’t even gotten to my first class and I’m already longing for the end of the day. Only now I can’t come home to her on the floor, calling my name. Only now I can’t come home to see her tired, wrinkled, emotionless face because it was no longer us it was just me.

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KC

AP

SB

11/11/19

Lost At Sea

They are fighting again. They don’t even realize that I am gone. My bottom sinks into the white powdery sand. The waves roar and crash against the shore. How come they always have to fight and leave me depressed and lonely? Do they ever think about me!? I’m sitting here, unwanted, skipping grey stones into the glistening ocean. Watery tears seem to always be crawling down my face. My eyes have been on high tide ever since they started the war that has continued to this day. Three years ago was when it all started. Dad came home from a party late. He stumbled inside clamorously and started knocking things over. That was only the beginning of it. Ever since that night, my mom has had to deal with his problems. Sometimes I think of my parents like a gun, peaceful until the trigger is pulled, then it’s crazy scary. When I am feeling scared or down I revert back to the ocean and I sit on the soft sand and let the ocean tickle my toes. My thick curly blond hair blows in the ocean breeze. My oversized, vintage sweatshirt hugs me like a long lost mother I’ve needed. My short shorts allow the wind to tickle my legs like my father used to do. The whistling wind reminds me of my grandma’s lullabies. She was the only one who showed me love, so I was destroyed when I found out she died 3 months ago.

The florescent lights flood the surface of the ocean from the city behind me. The stary night sky slowly appears above me. A happy memory from when my parents didn’t fight comes back to me. It was around five years ago, I was seven and my family and I were at the local carnival. We were playing the “Throw the Rings on a Bottle and Get a Teddy Bear” game, and I missed the bottle. My dad then tried, and he got it on the first try. He won me a big teddy bear and I slept and cuddled with it all night. That teddy bear still sits in my room because it brings back happy memories. Now here I am, sitting on the beach weeping with despair. Horrible memories will always be engraved in my head. I look back and see my parent’s silhouettes in the lit window. As I try to block it out of my mind, I hear glass shattering and screaming. Why? Why does it have to be this way!? Why can’t we be a normal family, that doesn’t fight all the time!? The door shuts and I heard the car engine roar. I dig my toes deep in the sand. I try to pretend it’s the ocean waves.

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Welcome home

SA

11/12/19

The snow softly flowed down to the pile of snow flakes at the bottom of my porch. I sat on the old, rusty one person couch in the middle of my living room that I could barely fit in. All I could think about was my family, and if they were ever coming back. I still remember my beautiful wife’s soft smile, the last time I saw her was in her hospital bed, slowly fading away. I couldn’t even bring myself to open the box she had written “decorations” on. My kids didn’t stay long after that, they left me to start their own lives, with their own families. I became too old to do much, so I just stayed home and almost never left. The cold wind raced through my broken door, freezing my small house, all I had was a small, worn out fireplace with barely any flame. I felt the cold breeze on my old, wrinkled neck as the red and green lights flashed through the window. I heard the faint laughs coming from the houses nearby. I only had a worn down tree that felt like sandpaper, that didn’t even reach the top of the fireplace. I only sat by and read as my life passed by and my house started to crumble and fade away. I looked up at the broken tree, I noticed a small ornament right under what used to be the soft bristles of the tree. The glass that had once been smooth and shiny, had turned into a hard, rusty, glass ball. I tried standing up with my rusty cane to go to my bedroom that I once shared with my wife before the accident. I could barely get my feet off the ground to walk. I limped over to my old, squeaky bed to lay down. The hard outline of the bed felt like a thick needle stabbing my back. I softly shut my eyelids and started to dream of a place. It was my house with lights, candles, and a beautiful christmas tree with at least fifty decorations. It smelled just like my wife’s meatloaf. I could hear my two children laughing and the dinner table. I took a step into the room and I could feel the soft heat from the fireplace. I saw my children talking and laughing with each other, my wife looked at me with her beautiful smile. I felt so much joy run through my heart. Nobody said anything they just looked at me and smiled. My wife then broke the silence with her soft words, “ Welcome home”.