Status: On hold for now, siffering from writers block.
Standing in the Rain
This is what I've been doing.
Here I am again, sitting in this musty old attic that has become my home in my home: my safe haven. I can hear my parents below. They are arguing the best way to get me down from here. They yell and curse but it doesn’t bother me, I’m studying. My parents, as always, are drunk. They say that when you drink and become intoxicated that your senses slow down, it may sound crazy, but I swear my parents senses speed up.
They haven’t always been like this. I mean they haven’t always been abusive drunks. I honestly have no idea what happened. I went to stay with my grandparents one summer, and come back to find them. The same bodies of my parents, just two completely different people. After the first year or so I got my routine down. Come home, make a sandwich, grab a water bottle and my backpack and head up the stairs and up to my attic. If I manage to do this all before they get home they seem to think I’m not here. Every once in awhile I’m a little too slow, like today, that’s how they know I’m up here.
My grades are the only thing I have to distract me. So I study. A lot. I look around for my trig book. Shit, it isn’t here and I have a huge math test tomorrow. I know where it is, it’s on the kitchen counter downstairs. I listen for a few minutes and hear the back door shut. Looking out of my window I can see the both of them in the backyard. The door is open but I’m sure I can make back up here before they notice. I slowly lower the ladder and tip-toe down. So far so good. I grab my math book and rush back up the stairs.
Something grab my wrist and pulls hard, before I have a chance to see which one it is my head slams the rail. I yank my wrist back dropping my book and dart up the stairs, up the ladder and lock it. I sit down on my inflatable mattress and look at my wrist, there are a few indentations. Moms nails. Something ran down the side of my right eye, blood. Yeah well, nothing new. I clean it up with my first aid kit, eat my sandwich, brush my teeth using the water bottle, and spit out the window before going to sleep.
They haven’t always been like this. I mean they haven’t always been abusive drunks. I honestly have no idea what happened. I went to stay with my grandparents one summer, and come back to find them. The same bodies of my parents, just two completely different people. After the first year or so I got my routine down. Come home, make a sandwich, grab a water bottle and my backpack and head up the stairs and up to my attic. If I manage to do this all before they get home they seem to think I’m not here. Every once in awhile I’m a little too slow, like today, that’s how they know I’m up here.
My grades are the only thing I have to distract me. So I study. A lot. I look around for my trig book. Shit, it isn’t here and I have a huge math test tomorrow. I know where it is, it’s on the kitchen counter downstairs. I listen for a few minutes and hear the back door shut. Looking out of my window I can see the both of them in the backyard. The door is open but I’m sure I can make back up here before they notice. I slowly lower the ladder and tip-toe down. So far so good. I grab my math book and rush back up the stairs.
Something grab my wrist and pulls hard, before I have a chance to see which one it is my head slams the rail. I yank my wrist back dropping my book and dart up the stairs, up the ladder and lock it. I sit down on my inflatable mattress and look at my wrist, there are a few indentations. Moms nails. Something ran down the side of my right eye, blood. Yeah well, nothing new. I clean it up with my first aid kit, eat my sandwich, brush my teeth using the water bottle, and spit out the window before going to sleep.
♠ ♠ ♠
Continue on dear reader! It gets better.