Hobo Johnson ~ Peach Scone (song above)
...
Four walls, four corners, a door, and a window. That would be my room. No bed. No mattress. No comfortable pillow.
The "bed" I slept on consisted of a thick blanket for the winter and a sábana for the summer.
Of course, I'd have a "pillow" but similar to my "bed" I had a single sofa cushion with the lingering smell of aged beer and piss that was a somewhat replica of a pillow.
The room was cold since the floor was cement and I only had two blankets to make do with.
My daily routine would consist of three simple things:
1) Going straight home after school
2) Getting brutally dragged back inside my room by my pa
3) Spending time with my "best friend" ( writing in my journal)
Yeah, my routine was pretty simple. I also wouldn't talk unless spoken to, eat anything for a few days, and I basically had no social life. My only best friend was the journal I wrote in.
These very walls are filled with tally marks representing all the days my pa has locked me up inside here before.
...
Nothing would really surprise me growing up. It used to be my parents, my older sister, and I living in this now dreary house.
Mi jefita was a very nice lady, but she had a few...issues. She'd been getting treatment at a mental hospital and somehow after a year, she vanished into thin air. I was 11. Now I'm currently a junior in high school, meaning I just turned 17.
My birthday was last week and if I hadn't marked the dates on these four walls then I might've completely forgotten.
My older sister, Mariana was here with me until she escaped on a cold winters night with her boyfriend named Fernando.
She left me a note that I read the following morning. She had claimed that pa kicked her out but then told her to stay. She then said that it was her decision to leave through the window and for me not to worry.
In the letter, she had stated that she would come back for me. She never did. And when my pa found out, I hurried and hid the note awaiting another beating from the very alcoholic monster standing in front of me.
As much as it hurt that she never rescued me and left me for dead, I can't find the will within me to blame her. I understood why she never came back and that's okay.
I'm still living, aren't I?
That was rhetorical. And to answer my question, no, I'm not alive. My eyes are empty, I can't cry, and the voices in my head are dancing in the fucking sky.
Pills? Yes. PTSD? Yes. A bunch of other shit I don't feel like listing? Most definitely.
And just like my sister, I could've done the same. Except, I didn't have anyone waiting for me on the other side as she did. I found it useless to risk another beating when I have no one to run to or go with. I don't find people interesting nor amusing.
Their complete feelings are terribly different from my scrambled ones. At least I can torture their little heads.
My game is fun. I choose when and whoever falls into my trap will soon turn insane. What a splendid way of passing time!
As I finished my last journal entry I heard a moving truck park outside the house across from mine. I wasn't going to watch the scene unfold since I had no interest, but something or someone made me halt in my direction.
I slowly turned my attention towards the window once more and saw what I thought was my imagination was actually my reality.
He looked younger than me and I could tell he loved books judging by the way he grabbed that specific crate first.
Interesting. Amusing almost. What a great surprise. And just then our eyes locked. My dead ones with his live ones held contact for a moment.
Within that moment he looked slightly frightened when he saw my eyes and was about to step back until he shook his head. He looked lost in his thoughts.
In the end, it seemed like he finally decided on waving at me.
I chuckled softly with a slight grin going unnoticed. I gave him a slight nod. He looked up at me curiously.
I should've gone out and greeted him, but my lack of emotions at the time wouldn't let me do so.
I never would've thought that a person like him would become my first best friend and still bring out a small ounce of resentment.
I could've ignored him more.
I could've hurt him more.
I could've shouted at him more.
Maybe I should've. Maybe then I wouldn't remember my first best friend this way.
But no matter how much I think of all the things I could've done differently to spend more time with this person...it wouldn't matter.
It wouldn't matter because in the end...
I was still left alone once again in a corner suffering in vain.
And all I now have left are the short-lived memories I once had with a boy who was the first to reach out for my hand. He showed me that life isn't completely dead when you have the right friend/person beside you.
~~~
Author's Note:
This is currently my second story and again I'm not exactly perfect with my grammar so if there are mistakes just let me know nicely. I'm still not sure about writing a short epilogue on my first story so it's basically just a rough draft right now.
Things to look out for in this story include:
1. Suicidal thoughts/attempts
2. Trigger warnings
3. Strong/mature language
4. Mature themes/alcohol and drug abuse
5. Physical and emotional neglect and abuse as well.
6. MENTAL ILLNESSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I believe I've covered them all, but I'll make sure to give warnings before any one of these things from the list above are in the chapters. (With high school homework etc.. there's gonna be slow updates, so keep that in mind.)
Enjoy,
- Lila💖✨
