Escape

She dreamed every night of escape. What it must be like to be outside and soak in the sun’s rays. She dreamed of being free.

Her room was extremely small and extremely dull. The walls were a faded white, splotched with scuff marks. Over the years, holes had been placed, which she tried to cover with posters. Daddy always took them down and ripped them up, enraged at her wanting to look at anyone that wasn’t him. She truly didn’t like calling him Daddy, but he made her. She hated that she had to look at him every day. She hated it when he made her take her clothes off. She hated it when he made her take a shower with him. One time she tried to leave in the nighttime, but he wasn’t as drunk as usual so he didn’t sleep through the ruckus. Her foot slipped on the stool while trying to climb out of the window, and he came storming in. She’ll never forget the excruciating punishment she received.

She wasn’t allowed outside unless it was to catch the bus for school. Daddy always watched her walk down the block, making sure she didn’t go anywhere else. One time her friend Danny got off the bus and walked her halfway down to her house. Daddy came outside and chased Danny down, screaming at him not to touch his daughter. Danny stopped talking to her after that. Nobody else really talked to her. At school. On the bus. She either sat by herself or some random kid would be forced to sit beside her if there were no more seats. She wished she had a pretty lunchbox like the rest of the girls. She always brought a brown paper bag, usually containing a peanut butter sandwich or nothing at all. She would sometimes put wrappers in the bag to make it look like she had food, and if anyone questioned her for not eating, she’d claim she wasn’t feeling too well.

Going over the newly-written words in her composition notebook, she placed her pencil in the spot where she stopped, and slid the notebook in between her dingy mattress and box spring. She yawned and sat up, glancing out her window and noticing some kids running down the street. She felt her eyes burn and angrily brushed away her tears, knowing Daddy would be mad if he saw her crying. She walked out of her room and into the kitchen, where Daddy was leaning against the linoleum countertop reading the newspaper. She didn’t like being around him while he read the newspaper. He usually got angry at a political article. Or he would be annoyed with the comics, stating that they were just plain stupid. She opened the refrigerator to find a tub of butter and a six-pack of Bud Light. She sighed and closed the door, sitting on one of the two chairs at the table.

“Oh don’t act like you can’t find something to eat, Claire. There’s plenty of fucking food. You didn’t even look in the cabinet.”

There’s only butter,” she replied, praying he wouldn’t start yelling at her.

“There’s bread! Make some fucking toast!” she was taken aback by how loud he got all of a sudden, but she knew better than to just sit there. She stood up and made her way to the cabinet where the bread was stored. BAM. She fell to the floor and felt blood trickle down her forehead. She placed her hand on her head and looked up to see Daddy standing with his fists at his sides, fuming. The cabinet door looked like it was about to fall from the hinges.

“You are such a spoiled, selfish brat! You act like you can’t do anything for your goddamn self. It’s not hard to make some fucking toast!” he screamed these same words at her for the fifth time this week. She was hoping he would leave. Thankfully he slammed down the newspaper and walked out the front door, grabbing his keys on the way. As soon as she heard the truck pull out of the driveway, she immediately started to cry. She was so mad at herself. She didn’t know what she did wrong. She just wanted out. She wanted to run away and never come back. She just couldn’t take it anymore. After she cleaned her head with a damp rag, she walked into her bedroom and immediately started writing in her notebook. She cried and sobbed and threw the notebook across the room a few times, but always went to pick it back up. After she had calmed down a bit, she flipped through the pages, noticing how many tear stains there were. She started to cry again. She let out a shriek and threw the book across the room again, curling into a ball on the edge of her bed. There was no escape. There was no sun. Then, a thought came to her. She sat up and walked out of the room straight into Daddy’s room. She crawled under the bed and pulled out an old shoebox. Opening it, she found Daddy’s handgun. Slowly picking it up, she inspected the material. It was heavier than it looked to be. She walked back into her room and shut the door, the gun in her right hand. She stared at it for a long time. She then concluded how much happier she would be if she shot herself in the head. She would be dead, but she knew that God would forgive her. He knew how bad Daddy was. That was when she heard the truck pull into the driveway. She knew that Daddy would apologize and then he’d want to touch her. She didn’t want him. She didn’t want to be here anymore. As the door opened, she placed the gun on her temple, tears flooding her vision. She closed her eyes and asked God to forgive her and to let her into Heaven. She knew she would be free there. This was her escape. She smiled and pulled the trigger.