My story is not my fault. This is not about pity this is about bravery.
C: Older sister
D: Younger sister
“There are episodes in people’s story that will never be erased from the mind.
In this case, the desire of escaping is so great that having memory to remember them is a punishment. Unfortunately, C could remember sharply all the chapters of her terrible childhood.
One of them happened when she was fifteen years old. It was night time, around twelve o’clock, at home everyone was almost sleep.
C, was lying with her little sister in the king size bed. They were born with a difference of almost ten years between them.
D didn’t like to sleep alone in the big and silent country house, she felt protected with her beloved sister, nevertheless always, always protect her. After a few years, C had learned to love the only person that could understand her in every way.
The elder sister was trying to fall asleep when she heard a load voice in the last room of their house, where their parents were supposed to be sleeping. The voices where rising, something fell on the floor causing a deafening noise. Afterwards, C guessed, he stood up.
C startled in her comfortable bed. She stuck her head out of the door looking on the hallway towards her parents dorm, at that precise moment her father closed and locked the door before her face.
C got scared. It was starting again… no! No! She said to herself “this can’t be happening, you must be strong”. She heard one hit after another, every single time stronger, closer.
Suddenly, the parents dormitory’s door opened, she, her mum, appeared dragging along the ground towards her little girls room.
Her mum hid behind C, like she was able to protect her from everything.
He, her father, showed up shouting unpleasant words from his mouth, penetrating as knives “whores, bitches, you are all useless, you are nothing, WORTHLESS….all is your fault, you don’t deserve anything..”
Confronting the oldest of his girls, merciless towards her, he continued batting. But she screamed with the little strength that she had left “leave as alone, go! I don’t want to fight. Please” she said “please”, she repeated several times “No more!, enough!”…while mum and daughter cried and begged.
When he considered that was enough, he dissapeard and turned back to his dorm like nothing has happened.
C, came back to reality, seeing her mum bleeding, wiping. Forgetting her own pain. “Do I still feel pain?”
C could see in her mum’s eyes that she was asking for compassion, help and strength to God, to don’t let them fall away.
C pulled her mum as she could until the kitchen, where she started to measure the gravity of the wounds (most of them incurable since they get imprinted on the reason and, where they are most painful, in the heart).
Already sitting in the kitchen, without words, C extremely gentle cured her mum’s wounds. How else could it be from a daughter towards her mum?
Without any warning a little and innocent creature came into view, it was the spoiled girl of the house. Her watchful tender eyes looked without understanding absolutely nothing of what was happening in that home.
C grabbed D around her arms, and for the very first time in her life she felt a fraternal love, only possible to feel with specific people during the whole life.
She curled up the little one against her chest, straightaway took her back to the bed wishing her sweet dreams.
Waiting for her sister to fall deep into the dreams world, she kept thinking about all those theories that she have read and heard from doctors, psychologists, pedagogues, saying that lesions (physical and psychological) occurring on the childhood, even though apparently they are not shown because the children are not aware of the gravity of the matter, they scar for ever. In other words, everything that happens during the childhood will brand for life, and will shape the personality, choices, decisions, ultimately: life.
After leaving her sister on the bed, C stepped back from the room walking to the kitchen, where her mum was with her empty look. She was in a trance, unable to feel, think, realize how awful is life.
In this moment is when hesitation rises up: what should I do? What do I want to do?
In spite of a long talk, A concluded that she wasn’t able to call the police. He was her husband, she will forgive him, although she knew it wasn’t the right thing, but she told to herself that she would take the necessary measures (as she got used to say).
That night, C tried to fall asleep over and over again, but it was impossible, the nightmares of her life continue disturbing.
She opened her big eyes and looked towards the ceiling of the room, she missed the previous room, the one on the old house. The one she lived for only four years. However, she had found her special corner where she could avoid the world and get inside her own universe, her bubble.
Following the odyssey lived that night, she could not avoid all the thoughts piling up on her head, more memories yelling hopeless, memories that she wanted to destroy, and hoping that would have never occurred.”
(Extract from one of my books, still not published)
How is it, living without violence?
It's weird.
Do you miss it?
I don't think so.
Do you feel guilty?
Most of the time
Did you provoke to be abused?
Sometimes I did
How do you define to be provocative?
Answering without being asked.
Defiant answers.
Saying no because I didn't want or understand what they wanted from me.
Life is not like a movie. Unquestionable, some movies are based upon real stories, but reality easily can get beyond fiction.
My story is full of terror, violence, lies, submission and darkness. However, I also can say that light flood in the spots, the goodness flourishes where the weed gets feed, revolution and rebellion had gained a new meaning, and the truth, though not justice, will finally govern.
I am not gonna fall
I will not let you win
I didn’t choose this war
I didn’t prepare as a soldier, still I am the commander of my tropes
I don’t know where I am heading
I do know that fear is not my companion, yet courage is my brother.
