Status: Fin.
Silence
Fin.
There’s silence in the grey, brick-lined room as I walk in with my head down and my hands balled into tight fists.
“This is it, it’s now or never,” I think to myself as I take the empty seat across from the man who effectively destroyed my life sixteen years ago. It’s too quiet, too quiet, too quiet. I can’t bring myself to lift my head up, to take a look at the face that I see when I close my eyes at night. The face of my nightmares.
I think of all the times I’ve closed my eyes and looked at his face. Pictured drawing it onto a dry erase board and then slowly wiping away the tainted memories I have of him. Rewriting my past in a drawing.
A tear I’ve fought so hard to hold back betrays me and slides slowly down my cheek.
I want to tear at my matted auburn hair. To yell to the heavens, “You destroyed my childhood!” or “You raped me!” But when I open my mouth all that comes out is a wordless noise, an almost animalistic squeak. And the room is just way too quiet, too quiet, too quiet. I can feel the guards looking in from outside the door, and I can feel the man across from me staring me in the face. I know he must be breathing, I know I must be breathing, but I don’t hear anything. Except the silence which somehow manages to be excruciatingly loud.
I get ready to speak my mind, to yell, to get angry; to fill the room with deafening noise. But as I close my eyes tight and take in a deep breath, only one word comes out.
“Daddy,” I whisper.
“This is it, it’s now or never,” I think to myself as I take the empty seat across from the man who effectively destroyed my life sixteen years ago. It’s too quiet, too quiet, too quiet. I can’t bring myself to lift my head up, to take a look at the face that I see when I close my eyes at night. The face of my nightmares.
I think of all the times I’ve closed my eyes and looked at his face. Pictured drawing it onto a dry erase board and then slowly wiping away the tainted memories I have of him. Rewriting my past in a drawing.
A tear I’ve fought so hard to hold back betrays me and slides slowly down my cheek.
I want to tear at my matted auburn hair. To yell to the heavens, “You destroyed my childhood!” or “You raped me!” But when I open my mouth all that comes out is a wordless noise, an almost animalistic squeak. And the room is just way too quiet, too quiet, too quiet. I can feel the guards looking in from outside the door, and I can feel the man across from me staring me in the face. I know he must be breathing, I know I must be breathing, but I don’t hear anything. Except the silence which somehow manages to be excruciatingly loud.
I get ready to speak my mind, to yell, to get angry; to fill the room with deafening noise. But as I close my eyes tight and take in a deep breath, only one word comes out.
“Daddy,” I whisper.