Shatter and Clatter (Short Story)

7:42 pm

"I'm sorry. Please, Jake. Please stop, I'm sorry!"

"NO! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE. LOOK AT WHAT HAS BECOME OF US! IS THIS WHAT YOU HAD WANTED, BITCH?!"

Shatter and clatter, I hear sobs and shouts. With every syllable escalating in its decibel, I shudder and cringe.

"I told you I'm sorry!" She sobs. Her voice cracking. "Sarah can hear you. She is only a child. Don't do this to her. Don't do this to us. Please stop, I beg you!!"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! I HAVE HAD FUCKING ENOUGH OF THIS HOUSE. I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!"

"Jake, I swear to God I didn't do anything. Ple-Please, Jake, please! DON'T TOUCH ME! STOP IT!"

I hear her gut-wrenching cries from under my blanket. I have heard people say that once you experience something on the daily, you become accustomed to it. I never understood why this particular daily house activity couldn't sink and wear down to the accustomed ones.

2:17 am

"C'mon, honey. Time to wake up," I hear my mum hush to me, waking me from my stupor.

"Mummy it's still dark outside. Why do I have to wake up in the night?"

"We're going to a nice place. Put on your coat quickly, sweetie," she says to me kissing the top of my head.

I can hear her breathing hard and fast. She's almost shaking as she clasps my hand tightly. We tip-toe across shards of broken glass and splinters of wood. Beer bottle glass, whiskey bottle glass, tables and chairs. A shattered photo frame here and there occasionally. All in ruins.

She didn't have to tell me to keep quiet or anything. I was smart enough to understand what was happening even if I was only 5. I'd been dreaming of this moment for a long time now. It's exhilarating to feel that my wishes were finally coming true. Maybe there is a God after all.

Once we are through the gate, mum spins around towards me, grabs my shoulders tightly and says, "Now remember, baby. We have to walk as fast as we can to Rosewell Street. We can't stop at all. I know it's a long way but we can do it. I have a rental there and then we can be free. Sarah, we can be as free as the birds." 
As free as the birds. I don't know why but that line makes me start bawling suddenly. I can't believe it. Our freedom is so close; it's almost like an unachievable dream.

"Mum, I can do it."
"Oh, my little girl, I never doubted it." She kisses my hands.

3:58 am

"I can see it, ma. I can see it!"
"Shh, I know."

It was old beat-up car. Hell, the only other thing I remember about it is that it was blue. That's it. Not that I even cared at all. Though, looking back now, I would like to know what kind it was.

We run to the car with elated hearts. Freedom is so close.

We have been in the car for barely 5 minutes when mum notices something odd in the mirror. Her brows furrow in worry and concentration. I look back to see it what it is.
It's a red Camry. Our red Camry. 
 I KNOW ABOUT ALL OF YOUR PLANS YOU SLY WHORE!
Oh. . . .

I can feel all the blood drain out of my body. I have goosebumps on my arms. My heart is racing and it's not from the running. 
Is this what true terror feels like?
My mother is speeding the car to escape dad. She's in so much of a hurry that she all but forgets about the still slick road from the rain. Our car crashes into a tree. Before my eyes close, I see a hint of a smirk in the rear view mirror of the car.

Our freedom is here.

I Can Never Fall in Love

I am a very ambitious person. Mostly it is a good thing, but it has turned out to be destructive for me sometimes. It is a main factor that played in my depression. I admit it has made some things better and helped me keep fighting but. . . .

I can't fall in love because of it!

When I start liking someone and develop a crush, I can't stop thinking about them for a few days. I make some mistakes and act to needy in the beginning; it only stays like that for a short period. I may not be as modest as I should but I can't help but admit that I'm not as bad-looking too. So that's why, I almost always succeed in making a guy I really like falling in love with me. Oh, and also because of my sense of humour and wittiness. *wink, wink* *hint, hint*
Except that one time with 'I'. Arghhhhhh. That guy was something.

Thing is, I can go on forever. There was this guy I was totally smitten for. I spent over 2 years infatuated by him. I got him to fall in love with me. The moment that happened, everything was gone. Poof. 
I had absolutely no feelings for him after that.
Nothing.

This always happens. It happened with my last boyfriend too.

And it's happening again with T. Now that I see how interested he's become into me, I can't feel the same connection. 
Once I achieve a goal, I am higher. Every relationship is a project to be accomplished. I have to move ahead. 
I am so messed up.

What My Parents and Friends Called Me When I Was 11-14yrs Old

Right now, I weigh 50 kgs. I am almost 5'4" feet tall. That's an average height. Neither short nor tall.

I am 11 years old. I weigh 43 kgs. I am not quite, but almost 5 feet tall. My mother worries that I'll always remain like this. She calls me a midget. My father calls me fat and ugly. My mother likes to compare me with girls 7 years older than me in the magazines and on TV and comments about how beautiful they look. She does this intentionally in front of me. Because of the average grades I would get that time (not inclined towards study too much that time), my father liked to call me dumb and said I would die and lead a mediocre life as a sad wife who could never achieve anything.

I am 12 years old. I weigh 48 kgs. I have reached 5'1". I have the undefined body of an early pubescent girl with genes of a plump body. I had boobs that looked weird on my body and always drew attention to them. My mother still fears I won't grow taller. She believes that once a girl has had her periods, she doesn't grow any taller. She draws attention to my thighs and says that I'm so short and fat that because of my thighs it looks like I'm walking on huge pillars. My dad says my body looks like clay. Fat and undefined. My extended family members make fun of me in social gatherings. My parents still think I won't be able to make anything of me in my life.

I am 13 years old. 50 kgs and 5'2" tall. I have a more matured and curvy body than most classmates. They call me a fat slut and say I have a bigger butt than Kim Kardashian. The worst part was that I was in the clique of the popular,  pretty girls. There was an omniscient pressure to look perfect on parties and in school. When you become a known person, there are bound to be some who will pull you down.  Especially in school. People would come up to my face and call me fat. They would constantly make jokes on me and mock me. Part of it was I called it upon myself. I was the class clown type popular. I happily laughed at jokes and acted like it didn't bother me. That's what they say in the books. But that only encouraged them more.

I am 14 years old 5'3" and 50 kgs. I have lost a lot of my baby fat but not all. Not yet. I have plump gene trait. My mother doesn't worry about my height as much but still strings on to me being more taller and prettier and being all that she couldn't be. My family members still call me fat occasionally. My brother has suffered some failures in his career and has been real upset. The buried sadness turns to anger. He starts calling me fat whenever I am just about to go out of the house to some party and all and look in the mirror to check if everything's alright. He knows what it does to me. He will hit me occasionally when he gets frustrated (not somethings that'll hurt. Definitely not domestic violence, but brother-sister banter.). 

My friends aren't that bad now (partially because I diversified my friend circle). But I still had depression.

All this time I would swim everyday, bicycle for hours, try to eat less. Anything to look pretty, thin and fit in.

In a Cave Where The Rest Go To Feel Normal

I have lived as two people in one body. I would adopt a different persona while talking to different people. There was no 'me'. 
Life was a movie. Acting at every corner, every street. No breaks.

But it wasn't a distinguished line. They were intermixing person. 

What happens when the line isn't as hazy? What if it is as clear as a spot on a white cloth that your mum keeps reprimanding you about?

It becomes difficult to decide which person is the real one? Is it the overly friendly and exuberant one? Or is it that sulky, depressed and rude one? Which one is an act? What is true?

I wonder if bipolar and schizophrenic people have a fixed identity about themselves or aren't clear about it yet. I don't know.


PS. I was inspired by Gollum to write this.