Short Story: Write about a reason for running away and going back home.

Image result for run away

The words are hurled at me and despite clasping my hands into fists and staring straight ahead, a few tears slip past my control and trail down my burning face. I hate myself more than anything in this moment, more than her and definitely more than him, who looks at me smirking form the side-lines.

“Are you listening to me you spoilt useless brat?!” She screams getting right up in my face, her breath toxic with alcohol, “you think crying is going to soften me huh?”

She pauses and I can’t believe my body has the audacity to indulge her as more tears trickle down, my mind is clouding from the breath I don’t want to stop holding but I’ll do anything to stop the tears.

She slaps me hard across the face.

“Next time you answer me!” she says grabbing my face: she looks at it, contempt written in every line of her still youthful face. I hate that she is pretty, that she is stared at when we leave the house together, that she is the youngest mother at my school; that some of the teachers openly lust after her and the guys in my stare at her with wide eyes. She loves it and she flaunts it.

I stare at her defiant and she steps even closer.

“No wonder your dad left me,” she whispers, “sick and tired of taking care of you, if I could do it over, I’d abort you in an instant.” She clicks her fingers in front of me as she releases her claw like grip of my chin.

It’s an insult I’ve heard before, but as she steps back her face slyly victorious she knows that it’s hit its mark. She turns and walks back to her boyfriend her face so altered that even he does a double-take, but he still follows her upstairs.

I am rooted to the spot, angry beyond my own comprehension. I fist my hands even tighter, I want to hurt myself, I fist my hands tighter still but my freshly cut nails only leave faint imprints. The thought is enough to jar me from that insidious path I’ve taken more than a year to shake.

“Leave the environment,” I whisper to myself, that’s what my school councillor advised me and I listen, because even though the feeling of hurting myself is still a beating pulse in my chest I don’t want to end up like Tiffney, I shake my head at the image.

I walk out of the house, it’s surprisingly warm outside, the sun not yet set, it’s actually a beautiful day, I walk briskly to the end of our road, then I pick up the pace as I walk a little further, a glance back and I can still see the house. What if I just take off, what if I just run. Better yet what if I don’t come back.

The thought causes me to actually smile and as I wipe at my face a kind of madness sets over me as I begin to run.

I’m running and it feels so good.

I run for a good long while, slowing down, almost stopping before I speed up again, my thoughts always galvanizing me forwards.

It’s late now, the sun has well and truly set, she’ll not worry, she never worries but she’ll wonder.

“I hate her!” I say vehemently and it feels good to say it out loud to own the feeling.

I’m always tip toeing around her and her latest squeeze, because she lets me eat her food and sleep under her house. I’m on guard all the time, more than that I’m fearful, especially after the incident, I almost believed she cared that time she punched the guy who was trying it on with me. I remember her rushing to me to see if I was okay, hugging me tightly and turning to threaten the guy, I’ll never forget that look of fury on her face as she protected me, I was only ten but still that memory of that day was crystal clear.

I’m crying again. I hate myself but the tears keep coming and I’m gasping for breath because I want my mummy, I’m pathetic and stupid and idiotic and weak. I keep up a stream of insults until the tears run dry because I know I have to go back.

The walk back home is much longer and I pause a few times trying to think of radical ways I can leave home forever, but I can’t. I know how hard it is out there being a runaway, and my situation isn’t half as bad as others I’ve heard of, I just have to make it four more years, then I’m off to Uni, then I’m gone for good.

I keep up the stream of positive images like my councillor tells me to do, but it all falls short when I see the house. I don’t have a curfew because she doesn’t care to set me one but still I know it’s late; past eleven at night.

I walk in – they are both cuddling on the coach, but she jumps up when she sees me and follows me to my room.

“Didn’t have the balls to go through with running away?” She sneers.

I sit on my bed and glance up at her, my exhaustion is weighing down on me and I show no surprise.

“Answer me!” She says angrily.

I nod suddenly I’m bone weary and just want to sleep.

She glares at me her face suspicious; she’s moving her weight from one foot to the other. I glance at her questioningly.

“Well next time –”

“Don’t worry there won’t be a next time. Three years, then you won’t ever have to see me again.” I want to say it firmly and confidently but it comes out strangely detached and she flinches.

She hesitates before she says; “go and wash those dishes in the sink!”

I nod slowly and I can see that my indifference is getting to her.

My councillor always tells me not to react and I don’t I just stand there and take her abuse but this is something different – I’m acting like I don’t care because I really don’t.

 

 

 

 

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Snapshots through time: Eleanor remembers the past

Embrace me Jonah

Embrace me Jonah

Jonah waited beside Eleanor’s bed, the doctors were confused, a woman of thirty with no history of health issues didn’t simply have a seizure and slip into a coma for a month. Jonah didn’t care what the experts said, he would wait for his Eleanor, he had already waited one life time for her and he didn’t mind waiting another.

It came as no surprise to him when she awoke and called out to him.

“I remember,” she said softly. “My darling Francis, I remember.”

“If it hurts you, then don’t.” He had said to her, brushing her dark her away from her forehead, so different from the lighter shade she’d had in her previous life, with the thought came a piercing pain in his head but he fought through it.

“I have to know, I need to. On the train tracks that day, what happened?” She asked her voice urgent, as though she knew her mind wouldn’t last long in this fluid state.

“We were supposed to meet one last time, but the train it hit you,” Jonah said carefully, “I died a few years later, working on the railway, I couldn’t be away from trains from you.”

Eleanor smiled sadly.

“How can it be that we have loved each other for two lifetimes, but never really get to be together?”

Jonah hugged her tightly as his mind started to rebel.

“I don’t know Miss Marie-Ann, I don’t know.”

Snapshots through time: Marie-Ann’s ring

one-ring

Sanella looked up as Ezra stormed into the office.

He looked down at her, his anger a palpable thing in the air.

“How may I help you?” She said pleasantly.

“A letter? You think a letter was enough to convince someone – regardless of the amount of coincidences she shared with Marie-Ann,” he interjected when she opened her mouth to argue, “was enough, you’ve taken out something, tell me now!” He demanded, his eyes too bright.

“A little obsessed?” She said with a smile.

He gave her a strange look, “Of course,” he said so earnestly that Sanella actually believed him.

“Marie-Ann was given an engagement ring when she made the deal with the Mayor’s son. Expensive and oddly unique, the ring has been lost for decades.” Sanella said and reached into her desk and pulled out the ring.

“Eleanor knew exactly where it was,”

Ezra gazed at it, he looked almost fearful.

Sanella smiled and said softly, “It is one thing to believe, quite another to be proven right.”

Ezra met her gaze. He opened his mouth to say something and closed it again.

Snapshots through time: Marie-Ann’s The Letter

old-letter

“Her name was Marie-Ann, we couldn’t be together, back then people couldn’t mix like they do now. She was white and I was black,” Jonah told Liana, “we kept it secret for as long as we could but we were found out. To say life got unbearable would be an understatement, the tenuous peace we were working towards blew up. It split the whole town in half. She cut a deal with the mayor; Mr Hopkins, to marry his son, an ignorant and violent young man, but she agreed so they would leave us alone.”

Liana had then been presented with a letter, soft and worn with age, she had the paper authenticated. It was real.

Much as I love you, and I do love you, I can no longer accept what we are doing. Your nearness, it causes great pain when you leave. Despite knowing that I will regret this decision forever, I can no longer take the pain of your presence any more – even for you. I will not put myself through it. Maybe in our next life we can try again. – MA

MA had stood for Marie-Ann Jean who had been born in 1953 and died in 1975.  Eleanor Avenoso had been born nine months after Marie-Ann had died. When she had first read the letter, she had collapsed and slipped in to a coma that had confused the Doctors. But it was when she had woken up that the real problem began.

Snapshots through time: Jonah’s story

rocking-chair

Liana paused outside Ezra’s office, she could see him reading her research, her heart began to race as she saw him pick up the letter that had started her on this path. She could still remember the look on Jonah’s face when he had presented her with the letter.

She had been working at the Havers mental institute for four months wondering if she would ever match the success of her first thesis when Jonah stopped her for a chat. Usually out of his mind on multiple medication, he seemed lucid as he gestured her over.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” Jonah had said.

Liana had sighed and shaken her head.

“I can prove it to you.”

Liana still didn’t know what had made her stay, maybe it was the small smile on his face, but she had listened to him, and what he had said on that day and the months that followed proved to her something she would months ago had insisted was impossible.

Jonah had always wanted to prove the existence of reincarnation, but it seemed like whenever he had gotten his story straight his mind would rebel against him, as if he wasn’t supposed to remember. As if his mind was self-sabotaging to stop him from remembering to prevent him from telling his story.

But it seemed like providence when a world-renowned psychiatrist had started working at the institute, it had taken his months to get his meds reduced to he could be gather his thoughts. Despite this he hadn’t expected her to believe him, but she had. It had taken her months to get the full story out of him, relapses dogged his footsteps, the more he remembered the more his mind rebelled. But the letter and the story surrounding it, that he would never forget.

Short Story: Snapshots through time

Short Story: The Witness part 2

Door

Cool hands on her skin that felt feverishly hot.

“Miss Nansam?”

Eseme jumped and he removed his hands.

“Miss Nansam?” he said again.

Eseme looked up, and around the room, they weren’t alone, a least seven other people were staring at her, had witnessed her seizure, not a single one of them were medical personnel.

“Get out,” Eseme said, her voice hoarse from screaming, but only at the need had she screamed, throughout she had been silent. What kind of monster was she to not scream as she was subjected to what she saw? Only at the end when it was already too late.

“What was that Miss Nansam?” the detective asked leaning forward.

Eseme cringed away from him but repeated her request.

He looked confused for a moment before turning around to the other people in her hospital room.

“I think she wants you all to leave,” a nurse who had just walked back in said firmly.

There was a moment of indecision as the detectives and other law enforcement officials looked like they wanted to argue before filing out. Six men and four women in total.

The detective that had been speaking to Eseme hesitated at the door before the nurse ushered him out.

“I’m so sorry for what you witnessed,” the nurse said before heading out.

Eseme nodded.

What she witnessed, not what happened to her because nothing had happened to her, she was perfectly fine, a few scathes, maybe a bruise or two, but she had left that road with her life, which was more than she could say for the others who hadn’t been fast enough, who hadn’t been spared, and she made no allusions about this, she had been spared. Why? She didn’t know.