Some days, when I think back to my youth, I wonder if I was doomed from the start. I had everything: a mother who worked tirelessly on our farm, a father who did his best despite being away so often, and siblings who deserved a better brother than me. But I squandered it all. Every opportunity, every ounce of trust—I let it slip through my fingers like sand, leaving behind a trail of regret.
Mira, my older sister, was the glue that held our family together. Only two years older than me, she was the opposite of everything I had become. She managed the household like a seasoned matriarch, taking on responsibilities far beyond her years. While I was skipping school and getting into trouble, Mira kept things in order. She was the anchor of our fragile ship, steering us through storms I often caused.
"Frank," she'd say, her voice strained with the weight of her concern, "you're better than this. You don't have to make life so hard for yourself—or for us."
I'd shrug, offering her the same empty promises I gave my parents.
Elena's Shadow
Elena was a name I wished I could forget, yet her shadow loomed over every poor decision I made. She was the girl from my childhood who pulled me from innocence when I was only nine. It was a name I hadn't spoken aloud in years, but her influence never left me.
By the time I was a teenager, Elena had introduced me to her younger sister, Lily. If Elena opened the door to my vices, Lily flung it wide open and dared me to walk through. Lily was bold, persuasive, and reckless. She didn't just encourage my bad habits—she reveled in them. It was through Lily that I met Sandra, her friend and another neighbor. Sandra became part of the cycle, but it was Lily who led me to ruin.
The Beating
The morning I left home was the morning my father's patience ran out. I had stolen 50,000 francs from my mother's stash, and it didn't take long for her to notice. I was woken up before sunrise to the sharp sting of my father's hand. He didn't stop there. Each strike landed like a thunderclap, leaving me gasping and humiliated.
"You're a disgrace!" he bellowed, his voice raw with anger. "Don't come back unless you bring the money with you."
Those words were a dismissal, a sentence that left me banished from the only home I knew. With my body sore and my pride shattered, I gathered what little I had and set off for the town, a 50-mile journey that seemed endless.
The Cigarettes
By the time I arrived, my feet were blistered, and exhaustion had overtaken me. In my desperation, I found myself among a group of young men loitering on a corner. Their laughter and carefree demeanor drew me in, offering a strange kind of solace.
"Hey, kid," one of them called out, handing me a cigarette. "You look like you could use this."
Though I had smoked and experimented with drugs a few years ago, due to bad influences of course, I had quit, but I felt the urge to take a puff again. The smoke burned my throat, but I didn't stop. It felt like rebellion, a way to forget my failures, even if just for a moment.
The Theft
It wasn't long before my small sense of relief turned into another mistake. I had used the stolen money to buy a second-hand phone—a symbol of freedom and independence. But in the town, freedom was an illusion.
A man approached me, his demeanor friendly and disarming. "That's a good phone," he said, nodding toward it. "But I can get you a better one. Trade this, and I'll give you a newer model—better battery, more storage."
I hesitated, but his charm and confidence won me over. I handed him my phone, watching as he stepped away to "fetch the upgrade." When he returned, he gave me a bar of soap wrapped in paper.
It took me a moment to realize what had happened. By the time I unwrapped the package, the man was gone, and my phone was too.
The Broken Car
With no phone, no money, and no direction, I wandered the streets aimlessly. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but every door I knocked on remained closed.
I found myself at a restaurant, begging the owner for a cleaning job in exchange for food. "You have an ID?" she asked, her expression skeptical.
I shook my head, knowing my mother had hidden it. The woman dismissed me without another word, leaving me more hopeless than before.
As night fell, the town's once-bustling streets turned cold and deserted. At the edge of a car park, I spotted an old, broken-down vehicle. Its windows were shattered, and its body rusted, but it offered shelter. I climbed inside and curled up on the torn backseat, my arms wrapped around myself as the cold wind found every crack and crevice.
Sleep didn't come easily. The memories of my father's words and my mother's disappointment haunted me. Every wrong decision, every act of defiance, played out in my mind like a cruel film.
In the middle of the night, I was startled awake by the harsh beam of a flashlight. A security guard stood outside, his face stern but curious.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I… I have nowhere else to go," I stammered, my voice trembling.
The guard sighed, lowering his flashlight. "You can stay tonight, but don't let me find you here again."
Lily's Shadow
As I walked the long road home the next day, a single name echoed in my mind: Lily. She had been my downfall, the one who pushed me beyond the point of no return.
One incident in particular would haunt me for years to come. It was the moment that forced me to leave school, the moment that marked the end of any hope I had for a better future. But that story wasn't ready to be told. Not yet.
When I finally reached home, my mother stood in the doorway, her eyes filled with disappointment. Mira was behind her, arms crossed, her face a mixture of anger and pity. My father was nowhere to be seen, and for that, I was grateful.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, though the words felt hollow.
My mother said nothing, but her silence was the loudest and the most hurtful thing. She simply turned and walked back inside, leaving me to face the weight of my choices alone.
That night, as I lay in bed, I made a promise to myself: that I would change, that I would make things right. But deep down, I knew it was just another lie.
To be continued...