By 12, my soul started getting shivers at every pointless touch. On my twelfth birthday, I was there again, in the hallway, hoping to see my mother. She wasn't there. I decided to return to my room and wait for her there, but he was there. Standing like the usual, with a knife much bigger than before. He was here pretty early. I wanted to run, but I stumbled upon something and fell. He hovered over me and gave me a deep cut on my cheek.
No one was there. It was just me and him. I kept on begging him to stop, but he won't. He made cuts on my hands and legs and even made a move on my eye, but finally, my mom arrived and cut his one leg off. He groaned in pain and ran away. She took me back to the room. I expected her to do my bandages but instead; she sucked on my blood and later, when my wounds stopped bleeding, she gave me something to eat. On first thought, why was I even expecting her to do my bandages or why shouldn't I? Or should I?
"Don't come to see me in the hallway," she spoke with dominance, clearly visible.
Stay in your room"
And she left. She didn't even wish me. Well, she never did and so never will. It was Monday, at 9 am. I was still asleep, but soon enough, I woke by the loud banging on my door. I didn't want to open it at first, but I just shrugged whatever feeling I had and made a move. To my surprise, no one was there hence, I closed it. I turned to get back to bed. I didn't want to go out, not because I wasn't allowed to or because they told me a specific time to get out. It's because I didn't want to see them (the people outside).
My mom was sitting on the bed, gazing right into my eyes. I looked at her and I felt goosebumps all over. She stood up and made her way to me. Out of nowhere, she began beating me up with a stick. It wasn't much painful as the stick was basically a wood, with not a much bigger width or length but smaller. She made a hit at me 20 times and then slapped me across the face. I never knew why and what for, and I still don't.
"Why Mama?"
I was crying, a complete crying mess.
"Get out of bed if you don't want to rot here," she spoke through gritted teeth.
I had no other option in hand than to obey her, which I did and got out, being greeted by silence. I turned back to see if she was still there, but she wasn't. Having nothing in mind, I headed off for breakfast. It was at that time that the sudden question arrived. Why are we living here? Why can't we just shift? Nothing else but this kept on lingering inside and I made a desire to inquire about it from my attendant, but she didn't and never told me.
*As far as I can remember, I never got to see the Sun but the bulb*
*My dreams were a nightmare I never wanted to imagine. My nights were a torment that I never wanted to sleep*
My life took a sobering turn when I was 13 and it continued to be till 14 and till my death. I always asked Mama why I dreamt such dreams, but she ended up hammering at me. It soon turned out that my dreams turned out to be my vivid discomfort and I never wanted to go even near her now, let alone my dad. It was this evening that I was doing some random drawings that were pretty ugly, to be honest, and he appeared right in front of me.
I must say that I was too slow or maybe his reflexives were too quick for a dumb dork like me and it was soon that I realized that he stabbed my eye with a pencil. The pain was so excruciating that I couldn't help but cry out. My attendant appeared, and they took me to the nearby hospital, but for the record, I lost one eye. They gave me a new name, 'The one with the Scar' I didn't like it, not that they gave me this name nor that I lost my one eye. It was this suffering that I was victimized to. Yes, I was sad about my eye, but being illiterate, I never took this melancholy so seriously as to how much I took my life to be. I only realized this after death.
"The pain I took wasn't so tasty and I realized it after death"
At 15, I only remembered how she abused me. She often placed the hot iron rod on my legs and hand. She would strangle me during my sleep or choke me. I sometimes felt like death was just around the corner and I sometimes felt glad that it was. I was mature enough to feel that way.
*You would want to kill yourself if you put yourself in my shoes*
*Can you survive a second? *
It was already morning. I lay in my bed, motionless. She did it again last night. I felt my limbs screaming out, a burning sensation in my stomach. My other eye was all red and puffy, my nose had blood stains and my hands, well, didn't feel anything anymore. It was like I had never had any hands. My feet were burnt and almost falling apart. I could say that my ribs were more visible than the last time. I was a 'nothing' in front of the other kids.
*Many kids and elders were pitiful for those who died in a single night, but I wasn't*.
*When can I die? * My days passed like this. I don't know either how I survived but I must say that she didn't abuse me that much. Back then, I turned 16. They gave me more food to develop some muscles, but I didn't want to. All that lingered in my head was, 'when Can I Die?'
"Mama! When can I die?" I asked her, but she just slapped my face and vanished. I have no memory of what happened when I was 16. All I knew was that my mother and my father gave me milk every night never appeared after that eye incident.