I’m walking down memory lane as I trace my fingers along the grave walls of our shadowy apartment. Along these walls plays a nightmare reenacted from a cheap horror film. A film meant to scare the innocent--a film that tickles the sick with delight and glasses the eyes of the sensitive. I’m neither, innocent, naive, or sickened, for I’ve been chosen for the lead role. In this scene stars three bloodied corpses, one frightened young girl (me), and a raging father.
A loud thunderous cry pierces the thin air as I lay back against the darkened wall. I cover my eyes and ears with my small and tiny hands. Salty tears sting my parched lips with its familiar tang. I rock back and fourth just like an old aching rocking chair. One throw against the wall and the cat’s bones shattered like thin crystal. Emotions stabbed my heart with a thousand knives, and then burned my eyes with ten thousand flaming torches. My palms were sweaty, and I was so afraid I was next in line. All I could think of was my bones snapping just like the animals--my blood leaking from my wounds. Fear and panic struck my frail body until I could no longer stand it. Being forced to watch was the only thing keeping me pinned against the wall. I could feel my blood shivering from what seemed like hours of cold harsh torture. My eyes only saw the bloodied masses at the bottom of the stairs, but my ears heard the silent pleas of the dead.
My eyes played this same horror flick over and over until the tape went fuzzy, and all was black. Once again peace was left undisturbed until the sun rise of tomorrow’s morning.
