6 Month ago
-Holden-
I have always loved fresh air. It can be so refreshing. Makes you feel freedom with every gust of wind.The wind that comes in the spring was soft, whereas the summer air was kind of dry. When winter arrives, the gusts of wind,cold and snowy, would barrel through towns and villages. And finally when autumn falls, the wind transforms into a hurricane. Those hurricanes symbolized freedom to me. But the transition into becoming a hurricane needs sacrifice. It needs power and passion.
I used to search for that hurricane, the perfect storm that would engulf me and let me fly over the world, turning me into a king like I had always dreamt of being. Was that even possible?
But being king was something I had come to despise over the years.
Why you may ask? Because of my father.
Dad was a king! A despised and unwanted king by his family! Everyone has problems, but does everyone use that as an excuse to let out their frustration on the people closest to them?
Well, Dad did have a rough time growing up. His father was murdered. Shot. Five bullets to the chest, three to the back. And if that isn't enough of a reason to screw up a child, then how about finding out that your cousins, your closest friends, were the culprits.
Nobody would have stayed normal after such a tragedy, but he needed to move on. So whilst growing up, my father learned to shut down the part of his brain that processes emotions. It was a defense mechanism elaborated to suppress the pain he felt and longed to forget. The thing is that the pain accumulated over the years and transformed my father into a person that wouldn't stop screaming, hurting people and breaking things unless a good share of blood was spilled.
For years,I had acted as a cry baby, a weakling, watching my mother get hit, my big sister tortured, my older brother tormented and my little sister have nightmares. I had my own personal issues. My mind was weak back then, but being raised in that environment and seeing those things happen regularly had made me heartless in some kind of way. It had driven me to a really dark place. But ever since I turned 17, every time my father picked a fight with a member of my family I had to rebel and oppose the mad king. So everytime somebody got hit I would completely blackout and wake up later, oblivious to what I could have possibly done, to the sight of my father half beaten to death and my fists dripping with blood. His blood. I would turn then to see the rest of my family looking at me like I was some kind of monster, and my father pointing his gun at me claiming the need to annihilate the monster that I was. How ironic is it that the person who created the monster would now wish to destroy it?
So after each fight at the house, my family would accuse me of igniting the fire. I would then go away and try to relieve myself.
When I was younger, I was so fragile that I would start shivering until I had no control over my body. Now I would just wait for a storm and take a walk. I would proceed to find the perfect cliff and I would just sit there wondering how good flying would feel like.
Birds are so lucky to be born with wings. I think that if I were to die and comeback to life, then being a bird would be the best way to return.
One time, standing at the edge of that cliff, thinking about how it would feel like to fly in human from, to defy gravity and break the shackles that had kept me from freedom, a strong wind blew. I knew it was the right moment. I jumped. Screams escaped my throat, not screams of fear, but of joy. The air blew across my face, taking away the tears that had unconsciously started dripping down my cheeks. At last, I was free.
"Let me fly"