Friday, February 15, 2019

Just the Beginning (part 4)

Credit: unknown
the monster's chamber

A story I started a few years ago, inspired by my favorite author Ellen Hopkin. Part 4

The monster is steaming, three empty bottles by his chair, his eyes are weak, he had too much to drink. He points to the kitchen, his fat finger in the air. As I walk in, dishes are broken everywhere. I look at him from the counter he just changes the channel faster and faster. I get out the broom and begin to clean the room.
“What’s taking so long? I want my food. Hurry up little girl, or I’ll lose my patience real soon.”
As if he didn’t lose it already. I stop cleaning; place the broom against the wall, leaning it so it won’t fall. I turn on the stove; the gas creates a flame, at first it seems tame, but than it bursts alive shooting to every side. It touches the pot making it hot. As it bubbles and boils, I turn it off stopping it’s freedom, ending it all. Having the flames of life in my hands makes me feel strong, yet I feel so wrong. All I can do is stick some food on a plate and feed the monster as he waits. Each meatball falls into his open mouth, as he takes a break between each for a sip of beer. I don’t dare take some meatballs from the pot, even though there are a lot. One rule I have learned is never take the monster's food, he finds it quite rude. Even a touch will change his mood. He sits and chews while watching the news.
I go upstairs and as my room nears I check my phone. Josh called, so I call him back. As his voice appears my scorn disappears. His voice makes me remember why I held on, why I still hear a song in my heart. Why I pulled out the painful dart from my heart. And why I start to smile when I go to school. You can call me a fool but love is to die for and I intend to do just that. Josh may not be the one but he is worth the run. As we talk I giggle and blush as I feel my blood rush. I tell my stomach to hush as it begs for food; I push my hand against it to muffle its pleas. As I hang up the phone I go on my knees begging G-d for a chance at love and someone to set me free from daily misery.
I wipe my tears a side and lye in my bed. Slowly closing my eyes as the light from the hall dies. My alarm goes off blasting in my ear. I look in the mirror and stare. A pimple on my chin, it’s just a simple pimple but it is bright red, I fight it with some cover-up. It did a good job covering the color but the pimple still stands out. I smile at a flaw. Knowing it makes me human, making me feel strong. I know I have the teenage thing all wrong. I’m supposed to flip out, scream and shout, not show my face in school because one little pimple is doom's mate. Most girls hate them selves if a pimple sticks out, if their fat jiggles, if their laugh cracks, they lack the knowledge in facts of life. The normal is considered cruel. The fair is called rude. People have it all mixed up.
As I skip down the stairs my mother makes her way through the door. Her dress is wrinkled, her hair a nest, and her makeup ruined to complete the mess. Her tears smudged her pound of mascara. Her purse held tight, making it clear she had a long night. She opens her wallet and sticks some bills up her sleeve, as she does every week. The monster approaches, kisses her cheek. She goes through her wallet and hands him the rest. He takes the cash counts it fast and sticks it in his jean pockets. He goes down to the basement to lock up the cash, as my mother hands me the rest, very fast. I grab it and run up the stairs hiding it in a secret place, saving it up for my mom’s and my escape. As I rush down the stairs and stand in the same spot, the fat monster makes his way back up the steps, running out of breath. He goes to the kitchen grabs a beer and no one says a single word more. My mom gives me an apple from the fridge, it's red like blood and wounded so bad. I can feel the bruises. Even fruits get hurt so bad that their worth seems cheap. Who wants an apple that is so darn weak? An apple should be strong, and bold, hard to the core and beautiful for show. This apple though went through my front door, so its beauty is no more. I look at the apple then my mom and suddenly I understand. I look at the floor until I make my way out the door.
As the bus approaches, J osh’s face comes into view, the connection we had, I know he felt it too. As I get on the bus everyone's looking my way, like always. This time though I don’t sit alone. I take the seat next to Josh, and I hold his hand. We place our hands between our hips to hide them from all the jealous eyes, the evil rumors that are waiting to arise, and the lies that will destroy my pride.

“Can I see you tonight?” Josh asks, his eyes wide. I nod, my head, looking out for spies. I know it sounds foolish but they are every where. Girls who think they will land respect if they mess up with others lives. All it takes is one big mouth, and a friend of my fathers to repeat a lie ending my very dear life. Not that he’d kill me but he will do worse.

I stand up right away, as the bus stops, walking out, letting no one get in my way. I pay little attention during class, thoughts running through my head way to fast. I can’t even catch a single word except Josh. I notice my notes are blank for the day; Josh’s name takes their place. I get upset right away; I don’t like a boy taking my train of thought away.

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taking off the mask is a writer for BrooWaha. For more information, visit the writer's website.
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2 comments on Just the Beginning (part 4)

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By SZU on August 03, 2010 at 11:39 pm

I just hope Josh isn't upto some game..

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By Jaromira88 on July 28, 2014 at 02:48 am

Is the plan pvc fenster

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