Lost Hope

New Story! Hope you like it, it is another short story, but I am planning on writing a full story soon :D

In the mean time, enjoy!

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I’m sure there used to be a time in my life where it has happy every day, I have a vague memory of sunny days and big smiles in my house, but looking at it now, you could never imagine that such a memory ever existed. That the sun once shone in this house.

The paint on the walls was cracked from years of neglect. The floors had numerous stains ranging from alcohol to blood which lead to the rusted windows that probably haven’t been cleaned since the first Harry Potter movie came out.  The poor state of the house had cast certain darkness to the place that was permanent even on the brightest of days. Even as the mid-day light shone through the window, it just added to the despair of everything.

Having been lost in thought I didn’t hear the basement door open until it was too late, big mistake.

“Catie, I need vodka, get some!” Came the slurred demand of my so-called father who now stood right in front of me.

I couldn’t react, if I put one foot out of line this would not end well and I really couldn’t afford that, not yet another time. I should have heard the door opening and got out of the house when I had the chance.

‘Well? What are you waiting for?” he growled this time, which was scary even in his drunken state. The smell of his drunken breath filled the whole room as if trying to suffocate me to death.

“S-sorry, yeah of course, I’ll just go get it now.” I whispered barely audibly as I hurried out of the house.

I half ran half walked to the sidewalk and only slowed down when I got about a block or two away from my death trap.

As I went to the liquor store I came across a young girl, maybe around 6, who was eating an ice-cream cone next to her mother on a bench.  Looking at them I couldn’t help wondering if I was once like that, happy and carefree.

When my mother died, dad took it hard. I don’t really remember considering I was only four, but she was a wonderful person. In many of my father’s drunken rants to his ‘friends’, more like drink buddies, he told stories of how lively and fun my mum used to be. How she took care of him when he was ill, or put him on the right track when he got a bit arrogant. The stories made me smile, I listened in behind the door because those were the only times my father’s voice was filled with an emotion other than anger or hate and I got to find out who my mother really was.

Father barely ever looks at me; it might be because I resemble my mum. I only have the one photo of her because my father destroyed all the others in the week she died and now I hold on to the only remaining picture of my mum for dear life everyday. Hoping dad doesn’t find it and destroy it like all the others.

Since her death was thirteen years ago, I’m sure he let go of her by now, but that didn’t mean he stopped the drinking. It seems all our, or rather my, money went to buying alcohol.

The walk to the liquor store was about ten minutes, as I walked though the door, its chimes sounded the same melody as always. Bert was at the counter and nodded his head to me as a sign of recognition, proving that I have been here too many times. He didn’t know my real age; Bert thought I was 20 years old, when I only just turned seventeen last week. If he did know my real age, I doubt he would sell me any alcohol, Bert was a good man and he didn’t break the law. He probably thought I was just a young person that just went down a bad road. No one knew my real situation, why would they? I never got close enough to let them know.

Grabbing two vodka bottles from a shelf, I went to the counter to pay.

“Already finished you other pair? You were only here two days ago.” Came Bert’s voice, gruff from his old age. He couldn’t be younger than 65. When he didn’t get a response from me, he just sighed and ran the liquor through the price check. “$65.34 then” he said softly.

I could never get over how much the cheapest bottles cost, there goes my dinner tonight.

I tried to slow down the way home, just to savour the peace while it lasted. Being in that house was like a prison he controlled my entire life. If I didn’t comply with his every word, it was frightening how fast his temper rose. I wish I could just run away, live my own life in my own way. Be happy, or at least like I was worth something. Being where I was now felt empty. There was no other word. It was like a big black hole was slowly invading my body and I didn’t know where it was or how it got there. It was terrifying to be like this, having that feeling of incompleteness and being able to do anything. You would try to be brave, to get over it, but how could you? When you don’t even know what you trying to get over, what caused you to be like this?

I just wanted to curl up in a ball and stay there, away from all the hurt and away from all pain. I won’t allow myself to do that though, I had to be strong because I had to live, I want to live. It would be wonderful to just run away, but how can I? I would have no place to go and no money to get me there. It’s not like there is someone there for me. I have no other relatives that isn’t another low life criminal. I was a high school drop out that had failing grades in the short time I was in school, no place else other than the downtown diner/drug market would hire me. The weed over grown house that I was walking towards was my future…

The rusted hinges of the front door squeaked when I pulled it open to get inside. As soon as I made it to the living room, I saw the man I call my father passed out on the floor right next to the couch face first. With a quiet sigh I places the alcohol bottles on the ancient, half broken coffee table. He would see it soon enough. Right now I needed sleep, even if it was one o’clock, there just wasn’t any energy in me. I felt lost. Tired. Empty. This was my life, some people had it lucky and no matter how much I wish I were one of them, it’s not meant to be. This was my life. 

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rookie101

Bye!