Prelude - Flayed Alive By Misfortune
When it rains, it pours and when it pours, it drowns. Yes, drowning. I remember what it was like to drown. Drown in the smothering ball gag of being told to live up to someone who doesn’t exist, being told to be a perfect little child void of any faults, being told you are a miracle and nothing less for if you are anything less then you are nothing!
Nothing. That’s another thing I remember vividly. I remember the nothing that was my mother’s "care" and "love" for us. How I do remember her one and only personality trait! Her adoration for things which do not exist. Like pleasure, euphoria, miracles, the grace of God, the high of the next drink. Need I go on? Because I’d rather not.
Lastly, I remember the fire. Smoke was a fairly normal thing when living with an addict but not when that smoke comes from the very walls of your "home"! Although I’d hardly call that manor a home. More like a barn of angry pigs and cocks who only bother squealing and chirping at one another. A building meant to be burnt. Contrary to my emotions at the time, I hold no remorse knowing that wreck died. But trust me, I had no part in it. I would not have chosen that if I knew the other option was to go where I would live next.
A filthy pigsty. More like a dump, a hoard, a septic. Well, it would become that. My mother had no need to pay for the manor we lived in. It was paid for completely by our grandparents who coincidentally just so happened to decide they were done paying for their "failure of a child"! I couldn’t blame them. It was our third house that was destroyed because of our mother’s ignorance and poor management. She was evicted from the first two. And the third? Well, I already explained.
This new trailer was our fourth home in the first seven years of my life, this cesspool. Since she no longer had the backing of my grandparents, she was on her own. She had to pay for it with what little money she had left. She knew she’d have to get a job eventually, but she was too unfit as of then. All the money we had still needed to go to the house. All the rest went to joints.
I swear it was likely a blunt that burned the manor down in the first place! Though I had no proof. Not that a single joint could actually burn down a manor of that size. Our trailer, on the other hand?
Living here would be a doozy. A doozy and a great ordeal for the following years would be the most painful years I had ever had the misfortune to live through.
This is what happened.
