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Living in Squalor!

  I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I  begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this.  I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living ...
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Behind Bars!

 

Barricaded Prisoner

After my attempted flight from the treacherous dungeon, I prepare for the berating that awaits for me at home. With extreme trepidation, I entered the vehicle, closing the door behind me. My heart sank as a sense of failure washed over me. I can only imagine what kind of security measures will be implemented, to ensure no incident like this ever happens again. It’s a dreadful thought that I may be trapped forever. 

Staring in the rear view mirror, I can see the betrayal on my fathers face. In his mind, he was the victim of my defamation. Certainly, the veracity of my story was in question, given my history of delinquency and defiance. I think the police believed my story was a mere baseless accusation in an attempt to gain attention, as this wasn’t their first encounter with me. My father locked eyes with mine, and I watched his lip curve slightly upward in a smiling fashion. My face turned red with fury as he smirked with pleasure at the humuliation of his own daughter. I was baffled by his actions, he knew he won and all I could do was sit there and silently ponder about what I did wrong. I was more than aware of the horrible mistake I had made. 

We are home now and I’m shaking, anxiously waiting for my punishment. The 20 minute drive home gave me time to prepare for my atonement. What I did was an utter abomination in his eyes, an embarrassment to our family, as if I could possibly cause us more humiliation than he already has. He showed his displeasure with my actions, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes, as if he was shocked by the prospect of me wanting to leave him. He sent my sisters upstairs and took me into the basement, I was left confused and scared as he put a record on. I quickly realized the necessity for music to be playing while he delivered my punishment. You see my punishment wasn’t the berating I was anticipating but a violent thrashing. First, he beat me, before throwing me to the ground and ripping my clothes off. Every moment thereafter was rough and painful. He was showing me just how consequential my actions can be, instilling so much fear within me that it would be impossible for me to be courageous enough to leave again. I felt such overwhelmingly deep despondency that in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to die. 

I went to bed that night and laid there suffering for hours, facing the agonizing reality that there was so no escaping this hell, I was destined to live this life forever. I couldn’t sleep so I ventured downstairs to get a glass of water. I was halted by the sight before me, chairs and various items barricaded every doorway, windows were nailed shut, and dead bolts adorned anything that gave way to the outside. I was locked inside, stuck behind bars in this hellacious prison. My siblings didn’t seem to notice the changes. Besides, the chairs and various items blocking the main door were removed by morning, I’m sure to avoid raising suspicion among them. For now, I was discouraged, but, in time I would muster up enough bravery to try again, only this time, I will be ready.

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Living in Squalor!

  I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I  begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this.  I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living ...
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