I created this category, to encourage myself to write a fiction weekly. Something other than the six-sentence stories that I just started on a week before, or the poetry that has been my savior throughout my life. I want to keep writing something other and see where it takes me.
the Girl That Dissolved Into the Air – a Fiction
Cruel – the Introduction
“Don’t you think that you are being a little cruel?” My dearest father yelled at me as I stood there as if I was made of a stone slab. With my feet firmly on the ground and my head in the clouds muttering ‘cruel’ to myself. The thoughts in my head drowned out his voice and once again I felt my soul leave my body behind – a betrayal that I could never understand. It was as if I was physically unable to flee and the time stood still as I just waited for the blow to bring me back into reality.
Mother Was Not There To Save Me
My mother’s taste in men always made me shiver. Introducing a new lover every now and then in hopes that this one will be her knight on a white horse. But as fast as they came, they galloped back into the place where fairytales were made. Maybe it was a way for her to escape but she always ended up crawling back to my father, pleading for a place to stay.
After all, it was not a secret that she was awful with money. And the disability hardly paid the rent. Maybe it was a material need that kept her coming back. Like a trapped mouse she would rather live with a man she despised than change. Or maybe she had lost all belief that she could make it on her own.
But the effect my father had on her was visible. In the months she would live at home the glimmer in her eyes died. Over and over again, a vicious circle of her fleeing and her coming home. Becoming a hostage of her depression I often saw her with her long dirty-blonde hair sticking to her face after not showering for weeks on end. Sunken, almost black eyes that hosted a lifetime of sleep deprivation and worry. Her under nails a house for the skin from my father’s face. But then she would find someone new and bloom like a maiden in love.
I often wondered if my parents were a match made in heaven or just a sad coincidence.
It is Saturday, January the second of 1999. A time every family wakes up and praises the lord to have made it to the next year. But the heretic that I am… I wish to burn down the whole house. Sometimes I entertain the thoughts of running away and selling my poetry on the curb but then I remember that people don’t read poetry. I could paint the city walls with most beautiful of verses and someone would still take a piss on it.
Our living room reeks of vodka and cats-piss as I find my dear father in a drunken stupor staring at a hole in a wall. Sometimes I wish that I could venture into his mind and grasp all that he feels and pour it out in a form of poetry, to heal his soul. But I don’t think there are words to describe his inner world, in that state he is a shell of a human being. Maybe it is a void within him, a void of love for the life he lived. A void that has created a monster that could lovingly brush the hair from your face or bruise it with the same hand.
Tip-toeing past my father as if I were a ghost I make my way into the narrow kitchen. The stains of oil on the walls and the yellowed cabinets with a smell of cigarette buds in the sink. The state of this place is like a mirror to the people that live here. I grab two cigarettes from the pack laying on the table and hide them in my pocket.
“Where is mom?”