I know it’s weird when people write about their childhood, BUT mine is interested, mostly sad but interesting nonetheless. It all started when I was born, I mean, of course, it started there otherwise there’d be no story.
ANYWAYS I was born, can’t remember that so let’s skip ahead to when I was about 5. On the first day of grade one, I went to school with my 3 older brothers. We were all in the kitchen waiting to eat our breakfast when my oldest brother Ali dropped a spoon full of powdered milk. All of a sudden he was bleeding... He was sitting on the wet kitchen ground crying out in pain. I looked over to where my mother was standing about to ask her for help when I saw the knife in her hand with his blood still dripping. “Stand up,” she says, she sounds very angry. I don’t recognize that voice, that isn’t my mother. I call out for my Ali, ask if he’s okay. He looked at me and blinked, I understood that meant I shouldn’t say anything. Later that day, as I was experiencing school for the very first time, I kept looking for my brother... Making sure he’s still there, wishing I could help him with the pain, and wishing my mom would go away.
6 years old, I am much older now, I can tie my shoe, I can eat without making a mess, and I know when I’ve had enough food. Or at least I thought. We’re back in the kitchen, it’s cold outside, and there’s music playing in the kitchen. Mom is in a good mood, she’s singing, it’s bright and everything is okay. I feel my stomach hurting, but I’m scared to stop eating... I call out for my mom, asking if I can stop eating “no” she says. Her voice is now flat, she doesn’t sound as she did when she was singing. I try to take a bite but I feel like throwing up everything I ate. She sees me flinching, “EAT!” she said. I feel my heart drop and eyes water, “I can’t” I whisper. Everything goes dark, I can’t hear the music or see the sunny kitchen tiles, all I feel is pain, my fingers feel like they’re about to fall off. I open my eyes and see the rolling pin sitting on the counter with my blood on it. She uses a rag to wipe it and just like that it all went away. Later I was on the bus, I looked at my fingers, they were now dark and puffy, I closed my eyes in pain and as my tears rolled down my face I wished my mom would go away.
All the dates become blurry after that so I’ll skip ahead to when I turned 11, I was now in the 4th grade... I’ve had a few more beatings, and I now understand how to behave and who to be to survive. But we all make mistakes. That night my mother was going to a party,
but she couldn’t find her watch. We looked everywhere but we couldn’t find it. The last one to see it was my baby sister. She was so scared, I could see her shake while trying to stand still. “MAY” we hear a voice coming from my mom’s room... “Bring me MAY” My sister breaks out in tears, she knows that no one is here to save her, that this is her life and she’ll never get out. My brother holds her by the arm and drags her into the room. I can hear her scream so loud, I don’t know what to do but cry, afraid that I will be next. I sneak over to the room, I pull away from the curtains and my tears run faster. My brother held May’s hand down while my mom hit her with a hammer. May’s face was red, her hand was purple, and her cries were now quiet, she couldn’t breathe. I walked over to the living room, sat on the couch and held my knees to my chest, and wished my mother was dead.
Stay Tuned for PT 2
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