I hope if I die, I hope that the person who found this may be able to see and feel the part of me that once existed. ~Achlys Garica~
~1987, 25 December.
It was cold today, of course, it was Christmas and just like every year we didn’t celebrate Christmas but the Jones came, asking us if we wanted to join for dinner. Dad didn’t accept it, slamming the front door in front of their faces and moved on to drink his third bottle of beer for the night.
The family, Jones had a young boy about my age, Jones, whom I had been friends with since I was young and he managed to sneak me a birthday present while I was farming at the field. He gave me a hardcover journal and told me that I could use it to write my feelings or anything that troubled me down just like he did in his journal. I know that journals were supposed to be written at the start of the year but I just can’t wait.
The family Jones were once my neighbours, they had lived beside us, they were well off, had nice cars, a nice house, they just came here from time to time just to get away.
They would also buy produce that I grew from my farm, everyday Jones would sneak into the property and play with me, the Family Jones would always try to invite my father and I to their dinners or events but My father would refuse. They were a nice family. They tried to help as much as they could, but I would always feel that someone or something was watching me when they were there, like today when the family was talking to my dad at the front door. There was a shadow hiding in the back seat of their car.
Anyways, my dad got drunk again and I hate not only does he make a mess when he’s drunk he also physically and emotionally abuses me, this is not the first he treats me to sell me off, it’s been two days since I last ate but maybe I could find something in the nearby forest to eat?
Hey journal, can I ask you a question?
Am I a blessing or am I a curse?
Am I responsible for my mother’s death?
Jones managed to sneak in and climb up two levels to my bedroom to give leftover breakfast. He gave me a few pieces of bacon and eggs with toast. My dad threw a tantrum while Jones was sitting next to me while I was eating, he was screaming my name, throwing beer bottles, cursing. At that time, I knew that it was going to get really bad. I had no choice but to hide Jones under my bed while my dad kept hitting me, I saw Jones’ reaction, he saw everything. The way my father treated me when he was angry or if he was in one of his fits, he tore out one of the wooden table legs and started beating me with it. But all I could do was accept it and all Jones could do was just watch.
I didn’t know what Jones was thinking while he was treating my wound, he was silent the whole time, which was not like him. He asked if this was the usual and I couldn’t answer, then he gave a hug and told me he will get me out of here.
In the afternoon, I returned to working in the field while Jones was looking after me from his bedroom window. But the shadow was there in the room above him, staring at me not blinking with its pale white eyes, I’m not sure if I was imagining it or it was like a housekeeper cleaning the room and he or she was just looking at me.
After sunset, Jones snuck in again to bring dinner, he came to clean my wound. He informed me that he and his family would move back to the city right after the new years, he wants me to move with his family so that he can protect me, he doesn’t want to come back the next year to find me beaten to death buried underground. Plus, he told his family about my situation and they were willing to take me in as long as I give consent.
Should I go?
Or should I stay?
Dad is being suspicious of me, he hasn’t been giving me food but I seem fine. I tried to avoid him as much, but his drunk state is getting worse and this time he’s barging into my room, pulling my hair, slamming my head against the wall. I took a shower after that and looked into the mirror, part of my scalp ripped off with a fresh wound and skin dangling from my head. I could see the roots of my hair visible on my skin, it sting every time I tried to wash my hair. Every time he’s drunk, I feel so scared, I can’t run away, well I tried and every time the police would send me back home, the beating would get worse.
There is nowhere that I can run to. Dad is throwing one of his fits again and that’s twice today,he pushed me off the second floor building and I broke an arm, he didn’t even bother to get me to the medical aid or even look at me.
I laid in bed that night in pain while I cradled my arm to sleep, on my thin mattress on the sleet farm of my bed. Tonight was colder than most nights but I only had a thin blanket to keep me warm for the night.
I thought of my mother while I was trying to sleep, who died giving birth to me and my dad blames me for it. He destroyed many of her pictures but all except one, their wedding photo in his room. I would see it when I passed by his room, she was just like me. Black hair and eyes with pale skin and beautiful complexion to match.
~1988, 1 January.
My dad commit suicide by hanging.