In Hope of a New Life
One.
When I was a young girl, the household was never quiet. Me and my mother got into our handful of quarrels. I was blamed for misunderstandings and misfortunes. My father on the other hand knew when to speak up or sit down.
You see, my mother had an alpha personality while my father had skill and smarts. I inherited both, making myself quite a threat to my mother.
She wasn't the best of mothers. You never have time to explain yourself to her. She'd either not believe or not even give a fuck. I gave up when I was eight.
I was surprised I wasn't disowned with all the hate I felt coming off of her. Maybe my father was the one thing that stopped that. The thought of my father didn't stop my thoughts of a life without my mother.
He would always tell me to just say sorry. To not yell. And most importantly, never stand up for yourself. I hated that part of him. I didn't listen to him.
You know, he started saying that when I turned about fifteen. That was the point when I gained courage I knew exactly what I wanted to say. I didn't care about the consequences afterward. I was suppressed with happiness that she finally heard my words. Even if she didn't think about it. But things went downhill from there.
I guess you could say she was qualified for a spot at the local mental health center.
The house burned until the last hinge of wood was called ashes from then on. Luckily, I was an only child, making it less for my father to worry about. Me and my father got out safely, my mother was waiting outside.
She said her reason was because we were always against her. That we were out to get her. That my words hurt her. I wasn't sure if what I said next had hurt her as well, cause I was almost sure she'd say the same thing if I didn't say it first.
"I hate you."
Today I live with my fiancee. My father is more than excited for our big day. He visits everyday to help with preparations, since he only lives a few blocks away. My mother? I haven't seen or heard of her since my sixteen birthday, when she tried to see me. She could be dead for all I care.
If I cared, that is.
You see, my mother had an alpha personality while my father had skill and smarts. I inherited both, making myself quite a threat to my mother.
She wasn't the best of mothers. You never have time to explain yourself to her. She'd either not believe or not even give a fuck. I gave up when I was eight.
I was surprised I wasn't disowned with all the hate I felt coming off of her. Maybe my father was the one thing that stopped that. The thought of my father didn't stop my thoughts of a life without my mother.
He would always tell me to just say sorry. To not yell. And most importantly, never stand up for yourself. I hated that part of him. I didn't listen to him.
You know, he started saying that when I turned about fifteen. That was the point when I gained courage I knew exactly what I wanted to say. I didn't care about the consequences afterward. I was suppressed with happiness that she finally heard my words. Even if she didn't think about it. But things went downhill from there.
I guess you could say she was qualified for a spot at the local mental health center.
The house burned until the last hinge of wood was called ashes from then on. Luckily, I was an only child, making it less for my father to worry about. Me and my father got out safely, my mother was waiting outside.
She said her reason was because we were always against her. That we were out to get her. That my words hurt her. I wasn't sure if what I said next had hurt her as well, cause I was almost sure she'd say the same thing if I didn't say it first.
"I hate you."
Today I live with my fiancee. My father is more than excited for our big day. He visits everyday to help with preparations, since he only lives a few blocks away. My mother? I haven't seen or heard of her since my sixteen birthday, when she tried to see me. She could be dead for all I care.
If I cared, that is.
♠ ♠ ♠
My drabble of the day!