My childhood is different from others. Not in a good way I might add. It was rough for me behind the doors where outsiders could not see. A drunk and a mess came together to make me. I was born broken. Father was a drunk and Mother nothing more than a common whore. You see Mother worked in a brothel where she met Father and got pregnant. What she didn't know was that Father was a man of high class, but not for long.
Father had lied and manipulated his way to glory and thus bringing him to his downfall. The courts charged him with fraud, and he lost all his money and land. Because of Father's high status in the community the Judge decided it was best not to ruin his reputation anymore by sending him to the jails. White privilege at it's finest. Soon afterward Mother found him and explained her delicate condition. Right then and there Father decided since the world was no longer on his side that he would be in this messed up family. He never questioned if I was truly his; I don't think he really cared. He just wanted someone on his side, so he picked the whore of a mother and never looked back.
You see some people may look at this as a happy story, but it's not. Father never gave himself time to grieve and forget about his old life. He expected to be treated with the respect of a noble rich man, but Mother treated him like the lowly common trash that he now was. Father however didn't appreciate that. This brings us to our first sets of bruises and black eyes.
The first time Father ever hit Mother was out of pure spite. I remember I was around the age of five and we were all sitting around the table eating the breadcrumbs that were called supper. No words were exchanged. Father simply stood up and slapped Mother causing her to fall to the ground with forbidden tears in her eyes. Maybe it was the clothes she was wearing. Maybe he thought her dress was ugly. I knew I was a broken child from the moment when I didn't feel any sympathy for Mother being hit. I watched as she sat there crying and I was not feeling anything. Not anger or fear, or sadness. Nothing. I watched as she reached her hand out to me and I didn't feel anything, I just turned my head back to my food and ate. But I was very much aware of Father's eyes on me.
That wasn't the first time though. I never knew, but I often wondered why I turned out so broken. Maybe it was the past lives of the tragedy called parents, all the trauma and reluctance thrown on me. I suspect they casted all their woes onto my soul. Maybe they thought my presence would fill the never-ending loneliness they felt after the world turned their backs on them. I thought I loved Mother and Father, mainly because I thought it was mandatory, but now looking back on my life, I'm not really sure I did. I'm not really sure I could.
In a perfect world, the tragedy would've never met. I would've been born into a rich family and been heir to the family business with hundreds of dollars flowing into my name by the hour. But atlas the world is not perfect, but I tried to make it that way...
By the time I started school it was clear that I was different. From the way I carried my slate to the dirt that clung to my white dress. I was known as that girl, though I never really understood why. It's not like I cared about what people were gossiping about, and if I was the topic that was just one more person to add to my list. The list I never knew I had until now.
You see my dear friend, my life was neither here nor there. I floated aimlessly around my small town never giving anything a second thought. I used to hear folk calling me the spawn of Satan, that Mother and Father were demons used to wreak havoc on earth. That's all foolishness though. If I were the spawn of Satan they all would've been dead ages ago.
There was one person in particular who gossiped about me the most, and her name was Genesis Blake. At the age of ten this is where children thought they peaked. The prettiest girl with the nastiest personality ever. But then again, having a nasty personality is better then not having one at all. Genesis Blake was beautiful in a way that is hard to describe and I hate to say it but maybe in a different life, if I was born into the right family Genesis Blake and I could have possibly been friends. Or maybe more.
But alas I was born in the wrong world and Genesis hated me for being so devoid of life. But who could blame her? I know I didn't. I remember one time pretty little Genesis asked me why I was such a freak- her words, not mine. When I was unable to provide her with an answer she made a lame joke and started laughing along with the rest of the class. The joke she told didn't make me upset or bring joy- which didn't surprise me either. Get it? However Genesis was scolded by the teacher and was told to clean the chalkboard and the erasers after class.
Genesis Blake with her long chocolate hair that was always in it's thick curls and her big green eyes. Genesis Blake with her puffy white skirts with the satin blue bow. Genesis Blake was perfect and you didn't need to be in love with her to know that. But she was on my list. The list I never knew I had. But the next chapter of my life is where I started to realize the truth.
You may continue on,
-Aurora Jones