The Cost of Freedom
When The Stars Go Black.
I didn’t know much about “The good life,” when I was growing up. All I ever grew up with was with an Alcoholic dad, and my mum, that I didn’t see much in my life. She made herself become very distant, leaving me with her sorry excuse for a husband, and my younger siblings to look after. Everyday I prayed for someone to drag me out of this hell hole, and back into the real world.
I tried everything I could to make life easier when she left us, I got a job, tried to look after my siblings in every way I could, after all, if I didn’t look after them who would? My father isn’t the “caring,” type, and the kids aren’t the easiest to look after. After getting a job at the local store, the owner gave me a couple of lesson on, how to treat the customers and most of all what do if there was a robbery, I though life was suddenly getting better. But I was wrong.
The city was bright as the sun was creeping behind the tall skyscrapers leaving a glowing orange to shine on the rim of the buildings, the thousands of glass windows were absorbing the light. The skyscrapers shadowed over us and the city lights grew brighter as the night-time got sooner, then we would be greeted by the moon, our beacon of light watching over us in the night, a light in the darkest times. The smell of the local Chinese shop filled the air with an aroma that made you crave the food inside. People were greeting one and another in the streets, and going about their daily business.
I wish I lived there. But no, if you walk a couple of blocks away, that’s my neighbourhood. Gangs on every corner, the smell of sewer fills the air putting your gag reflex in motion. There are Hobos in every alley way, hookers on every corner, the cars were soaring past blasting the music to the volume of “bursting your eardrums,” and this place is far from peaceful. I guess all I ever wanted was for my siblings to have the life I never had.
I walk in through the front door. Everything is still, I guess that’s because everyone is out or too lazy to get up. I manoeuvre my way through the all beaten shoes on the floor (never in the basket like they should be in.) Doing so as I wiped my hand over the pine table I noticed a letter addressed to me, but it wasn’t one from the bank or work, it was hand written, no one can be bothered to hand write letter to me. I stared blankly at the letter for awhile, deciding whether to open it or just ignore it and chuck it away. I couldn’t, my mind was racing on what it could say, and it could be my ticket out of here.
I couldn’t wait any longer I had to see what it is. It was from my granddad. My mum she’s dead!
I tried everything I could to make life easier when she left us, I got a job, tried to look after my siblings in every way I could, after all, if I didn’t look after them who would? My father isn’t the “caring,” type, and the kids aren’t the easiest to look after. After getting a job at the local store, the owner gave me a couple of lesson on, how to treat the customers and most of all what do if there was a robbery, I though life was suddenly getting better. But I was wrong.
The city was bright as the sun was creeping behind the tall skyscrapers leaving a glowing orange to shine on the rim of the buildings, the thousands of glass windows were absorbing the light. The skyscrapers shadowed over us and the city lights grew brighter as the night-time got sooner, then we would be greeted by the moon, our beacon of light watching over us in the night, a light in the darkest times. The smell of the local Chinese shop filled the air with an aroma that made you crave the food inside. People were greeting one and another in the streets, and going about their daily business.
I wish I lived there. But no, if you walk a couple of blocks away, that’s my neighbourhood. Gangs on every corner, the smell of sewer fills the air putting your gag reflex in motion. There are Hobos in every alley way, hookers on every corner, the cars were soaring past blasting the music to the volume of “bursting your eardrums,” and this place is far from peaceful. I guess all I ever wanted was for my siblings to have the life I never had.
I walk in through the front door. Everything is still, I guess that’s because everyone is out or too lazy to get up. I manoeuvre my way through the all beaten shoes on the floor (never in the basket like they should be in.) Doing so as I wiped my hand over the pine table I noticed a letter addressed to me, but it wasn’t one from the bank or work, it was hand written, no one can be bothered to hand write letter to me. I stared blankly at the letter for awhile, deciding whether to open it or just ignore it and chuck it away. I couldn’t, my mind was racing on what it could say, and it could be my ticket out of here.
I couldn’t wait any longer I had to see what it is. It was from my granddad. My mum she’s dead!
♠ ♠ ♠
Enjoy.