I ran out of the house last night, sick with fever and flu. It was cold, the gentle midnight breeze made me shiver non stop.
Her words echoed in my head, serving to remind me not to do anything rash or stupid. I grieved once more.
It's not funny should anything happen to you. I'm angry because they ain't the ones who'll send you to hospital in the middle of the night and they won't be the ones guarding 6 hrs straight beside your bed to ensure you are ok.
She made sense, perfect sense. They had never once cared whether I lived or died, everytime when things happen, it was the same few people, coming to my aid, sending me to the hospital even when I didn't let them in on what was happening.
Only she saw those horrendous marks on my hands when I came to school, the strangle marks on my neck and the hole in my heart. I witnessed the spilling violence, endured the abuse of all sorts, became the scapegoat of all blames for everything small or big. "Blame it on the child for our quarrels!" And only she knew, and she hugged me, assuring me that I would pull through all these. At the mere age of 13, I was no match for my dad's physique. The beatings were often, but the scars done to my heart was permanent.
Gradually, I started hating this home.
I dreaded going home. I would linger outside for as long as I can, only going home to sleep or to rest. My grades slipped as a result. My parents couldn't care less. To them, I was a rotten piece of shit being picked up from the dumps, that was how much my self worth was in their wretched eyes. They will only care if I had gotten that scholarship as money ranked high in their sight.
I remembered every single word that my parents said on that night. They couldn't care less, muttering this,"If she dies, that's too bad." And went back to sleep, letting me surrender to the cruel fate that lies after.
I learnt of the bitterness of heartlessness.
Even your closest kin can do this to you, what makes you so sure that others would even give a damn?
Whenever I recall that particular point of time, tears would roll down my eyes.
I remember him pleading. Tearful faces. I knew that I broke their hearts. And there was a struggle within me. I chose not to hurt him further.
My parents had heartlessly given up on me, while strangers whom I barely knew all my life, embraced me and picked up my life from the threads of death over and over again.
I swore in unbelief whenever people try to convince me that all parents would care.
Not all, not all...
Her words echoed in my head, serving to remind me not to do anything rash or stupid. I grieved once more.
It's not funny should anything happen to you. I'm angry because they ain't the ones who'll send you to hospital in the middle of the night and they won't be the ones guarding 6 hrs straight beside your bed to ensure you are ok.
She made sense, perfect sense. They had never once cared whether I lived or died, everytime when things happen, it was the same few people, coming to my aid, sending me to the hospital even when I didn't let them in on what was happening.
Only she saw those horrendous marks on my hands when I came to school, the strangle marks on my neck and the hole in my heart. I witnessed the spilling violence, endured the abuse of all sorts, became the scapegoat of all blames for everything small or big. "Blame it on the child for our quarrels!" And only she knew, and she hugged me, assuring me that I would pull through all these. At the mere age of 13, I was no match for my dad's physique. The beatings were often, but the scars done to my heart was permanent.
Gradually, I started hating this home.
I dreaded going home. I would linger outside for as long as I can, only going home to sleep or to rest. My grades slipped as a result. My parents couldn't care less. To them, I was a rotten piece of shit being picked up from the dumps, that was how much my self worth was in their wretched eyes. They will only care if I had gotten that scholarship as money ranked high in their sight.
I remembered every single word that my parents said on that night. They couldn't care less, muttering this,"If she dies, that's too bad." And went back to sleep, letting me surrender to the cruel fate that lies after.
I learnt of the bitterness of heartlessness.
Even your closest kin can do this to you, what makes you so sure that others would even give a damn?
Whenever I recall that particular point of time, tears would roll down my eyes.
I remember him pleading. Tearful faces. I knew that I broke their hearts. And there was a struggle within me. I chose not to hurt him further.
My parents had heartlessly given up on me, while strangers whom I barely knew all my life, embraced me and picked up my life from the threads of death over and over again.
I swore in unbelief whenever people try to convince me that all parents would care.
Not all, not all...
posted by A Shade of Purple at 6:34 PM
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