Mon 4 Nov, 2002 11:09 pm
I had been there before, many times to be exact. Though this was different as my hand went to reach for the handle on the door I could feel it want to restrain return and remain. When my hand finally grasped the knob, I began to turn it so slow with all my past memories of this place looking for an outward flow. My toes felt like they were going to curl up inside my shoes so tightly as if to break. I made it in though for I had ulterior motives this time around. I had to make sure the kids were all right.
As I sat on the couch, I could smell the aroma of the devil in the air. Timmy the youngest of them all came up to me with his broken toy asking me if I wanted to play instead I not only agreed but sat down beside him and attempted to fix his broken truck, which I had watched him times before try to put back together. All this was going on while the mother was in the bedroom with my so-called friend offering to perform such things as sexual favors for one more hit off his pipe. While I sat there with Timmy trying to play and help him escape all this drama around him all I could really think about was the smell of ammonia, melted plastic, and the snap crackle sizzle pop of the actions next door. Only a few feet away were the parent's room with nothing but a sheet for a door.
I remembered so many times of walking into this house and seeing these three young children on the floor with no one to talk to, not one caring enough person to teach them or to show them love on a bonding level. Instead all I found were people that came in like ants scurrying desperately around to gather food for their colony and leave.
Today was different it was the day where I found myself choosing not to return. I walked into the bathroom telling Timmy I would be right back finding myself looking at the walls and the door with all the blood, which was on the handle and the speckles of it on the ceiling like looking up at a disgusting night sky.
I walked out and gracefully found my way past the bedroom without throwing up to find myself back in the living room with not only Timmy but also his younger brother and sister sitting there looking at me all holding something in their hands along with this look shown in all of the sets of eyes present, that of which seemed like they wanted to cry a flood and wash out the tide.
So I sat back down with them all now. The older sister showed me her book and asked me if I could help her with her homework, While Timmy so young and restless had to interrupt and jumped on my lap with his precious red truck I fixed demanding my full attention. Then with a loud bang and snap, a gunshot rang out from outside that came in through the window and just missed young Timmy's head by about a centimeter.
That was the day I decided to never go back. Not because I did not care but because I cared too much. I loved these children as if they were my own. The thought of ever going back to the inferno again I think would probably have given me a stroke for this was only one day I have not mentioned all the preceding ones that made me so hesitant towards opening the door.
Powerful story. However, it left me somewhat dissatisfied. Why has the protagonist not acted to protect the children? We are told the effects of a sordid world on the children, but left to wonder at the motivations and actions of the teller of the tale. I know these things happen more often than the general public might think. The truth of the story may shock some, but I have seen similar situations. Always there is the question of why? when confronted by these situations, officers want to mete out a bit of street justice, but usually have the discipline to resist that. It isn't too difficult to understand the behavior of people sunk into barbarity by drug/alcohol dependance. What is more difficult to understand is the failure of so-called innocent by-standers to protect the children.
A number of nice turns of phrase, and word choices make this a better than average read. Write some more.
Asherman, thank you for such kind words. I am in the process of writing a book about this such thing and others. In about two weeks I will be moving and starting some volunteer work to help people that see this kind of thing at home. When this event took place I was a coward. Please see the quotes that I am about to add in the quote section, they are my own taken from my past writing, my new book, and things I say. My Mother insists or in other words has persuaded me to post them.
I attempt to approach this world, the negativity that is not with a mail bomb or a gun, but instead with newfound courage and through writing and speaking. If they choose not to see it that is their own choice. I merely wish to translate thousand's of peoples non heard/ or un aknowledged voices in hopes of reaching the before non reachable.
I will devote my life to this
Helping the voiceless find a voice is a noble goal.
You are truely your brother's keeper, Mello
In that I have great respect.
As for the quotes, A-f#****mazing. She was right to tell you to post them, there are "coldly Inspiring..