The Boy Who Could Fly

Christmas. Every year since I could remember it was always the same.
Dinner was a simple roasted chicken or half turkey they would sell at the grocery stores. Most of the time it came with some potatoes and gravy, but I never ate it. Father always ate first since he was the "head of the house". Then my mother would eat once he was done or whenever he felt the need to eat together. For me, the last time I was able to sit down and just have a piece of chicken was when I was eleven. At twelve they wouldn't let me eat until I had shoveled up all the snow on our sidewalk,driveway, and back porch; cleaned the house with their room included since I was big enough to know not to touch their needles; and lastly I had to drag them up the stairs to their room with out waking them up. I wasn't told about the last one until I heard mom beg me to take her up since she was too drunk to walk. It was easy since she was a bit aware of the situation. But with Father, it was horrible. I had to carry him over my back and crawl on my hands all the way up the stairs. I got him to the room and rolled him off my back.
"What the fuck is you doing!" He would growl with a slurred alcoholic stench in his words . I would explain and lie that I took him to his bed since he needed a good sleep, since he was after all the "head of the house". He would be too drugged up and drunk to hear how sarcastic and rude I was being. But I never pushed it more. At that state, he would kill me with out hesitation.
Finally at the end of the night, like around midnight or after, I would pull the chicken I had managed to saved from their plates, and took it too my room to eat.
At fourteen I had cut my knees too deep and passed out that Christmas night. I thought before I went out. 'Is this what death feels like?'
The next day when I woke up, I realized it wasn't. Because even if I ended up in hell, it just had to be better than all of the torture with my parents. And after that, I started to have suicidal thoughts and cut more. I cut from my knees up since sometimes I would wear shorts around the house when I cleaned.
Last year when I was throwing out some leftover chicken since I wasn't allowed to eat any, one of our neighbors caught me pulling my shorts up a bit since they were getting big and she saw a glimpse of my markings. From across the street she ran to my house through the snow and gave me a hug. We were both seventeen at the time, I didn't really know her since she was homeschooled and was always in the house. But i would see her from my room whenever she would take pictures of the trees or birds.
I remember her quiet voice when she told me,
"Please be strong for me." She shed a single tear and told me farewell before running back inside her house.
When I went back to my room I saw that she had slipped a note into my pocket.
I found out her name was Katelynne. She told me all about how she was a little girl and would be scared when anyone spoke to her, when they looked at her funny, and when they laughed and she thought it was at her.
She said she had seen what my parents were like and wished we were friends. That maybe if things were different we could have been. She told me in the note what she would do.
"It never ends" she wrote in a scratchy manner. She drew razors around the words and little butterflies with broken wings. She was so beautiful, I never understood why kids hated us in kindergarten. Well, I know why they hate me. But why her?

"Kellin get up already!" Mom shouted behind the door. Shaking my head, I got out from under the blankets and off my bed. 'Christmas again' I thought to myself.
Now with Father gone, and my mother back to her normal self, surely it would be different. Justin would probably lighten the mood for us.
"Christmas day Kellin! Get up and come out now!" She said with a sweet tone in her voice.