The Reminiscence of a Psychopath

Flashes of glorious light shone through the sparkling pieces of rainbow glass that arched above my head. For a moment in time, the shattering beer bottle was like beautiful jewels glittering like a thousand diamonds.

However, that thought exploded like a bottle, hitting the vase near my head. I felt blood slide down my face and watched it mingle with the water amongst the shards of porcelain.

Then, through the ringing in my ears, I heard the angry words hurled at me through slurred lips, "It's all your fault, rat." My gaze slipped to the man's angry face. The murky eyes filled with drink glowered down at me, "I am the head of this houseee, youuuu listen to me."

The man who stood over me, oozing with beer and whatever else he could find, was the person I called my father. I kept silent; these harsh words and clumsy kicks were daily replays of the same track over and over again. Whatever I did, no matter what option I chose, it would only be worse if I decided to speak.

After seventeen muddy years of existence, it seems like screaming was all that was ever directed at me. No, that's not exactly right. There was a time, a sweet time, before the beatings, screaming, and turmoil. My father was rough around the edges but kind; he would soothe me when I was sick and play even the silliest games with me. I remember him wrapping the whole family into his arms and telling us how precious we were to him.

My mother was loving; her smile could melt the grumpiest of shopkeepers and heal even the angriest of tears. She would hold me in her arms and sing lullabies that even the stars would sway to.

It all changed when I turned eleven. The stone stairs of our house were always there, but one night, they seemed to disappear. As I was coming down for a warm glass of milk, I missed one of the corner steps and hurtled down the stairs. My head was cracked badly, and when I was rushed to the hospital, it was pronounced a fatal traumatic brain injury.

My parents then used all their savings and even took out loans to pay for the treatment. It was an impressive $115,000 for a decompressive craniotomy and many other added charges. Afterward, our comfortable life became poverty-stricken; the blow to the financial side of things was too much on my parents. They began to argue, more than not, stressed from their long hours away working. In the end, it was all my fault if only I had been more careful. However, I got my due punishment. They turned from each other to me to let out their frustrations, for it was I that had been the start of all the problems.

Even now, as I am older, the guilt of tearing my family apart weighs heavier than anything I have ever experienced. Maybe this is what it feels to be Atlas holding up the heavens as my retribution. A heavy hand whipped across my face, breaking me out of my thoughts and making glass bits burrow into my

cheek.

"This is ridiculous," my father shouted as he turned to a woman eating at a table, "look at this trash. How could you give birth to something like this? It can't do even the simplest of jobs." The woman, the person I called my mother, glanced up from the table and chewed on a pile of noodles slathered in ketchup.

"It's because you're a fool, Luke; your own child won't even respect you; what a pathetic waste you are." The man became red in the face, and leaning towards me, he grabbed my greasy hair and spat into my face, "You can't even hold down a job for a month."

I spoke and immediately cursed myself for my pitiful stuttering, "Th- the school found out I had a j-job and banned me from working 6-60 hours or more," At least I could control the tears and squeezed my eyes, letting hot tears dribble onto the hand of the man.

He threw my head aside like he'd been burned and growled, "You shouldn't have let them find out then. As the man of the house, you obey me and not some half-wits at that crummy school."

I nodded meekly, wondering how many kicks were left till I could crawl back to my cardboard bed. School was my only escape from these people; their library held portals to different worlds, and each page contained a drop of wonderful wizardry.

It seemed like a lifetime ago since Monday, but I could vividly remember the musty, home-like atmosphere and feel the deep settling of peace and warmth that the books always exuded. If only I could hold the worn, smooth leather of the newest book I had been reading. It was a special book I had found after being forced to clean the entirety of the library.

Others were supposed to clean, but they dumped the responsibilities on me and left. I vividly remember the jeering looks on their face as they laughed, "You should do it all yourself; anyways, beggars can't be choosers!" Being too tired and scared to argue, I meekly followed along and cleaned the whole of the two-story library. Yet, it was better than cleaning with others. There were no mean pranks or harsh remarks, only me, myself and I.

While cleaning one of the highest bookshelves, I found an extremely dusty leather book. Or what felt to be leather. It was bound like it was from the medieval periods, and when I blew off the dust, the particles hung in the sunlight, dancing with mirth at the thought of being read once more. It was nothing but magical as I lost myself in its pages.

The world came to life as it never had before in my own, and the characters were real, so real I could almost imagine them standing beside me. The plot was average, but the way the author painted the words made it much more hopeful than the world I was now in.

At the moment, all I could do now is hold my head as tight as possible and wait. Approximately fifteen kicks and a few punches were all it took before the man became tired. I uncurled from my shrimp-like position on the floor and watched as he walked away, his protruding belly jiggling, satisfied with his show of manhood. I slowly, slowly dragged myself to the basement and onto my kingly cardboard bed.

Everything hurt: my back, arms, legs, and face; hunger clawed at my insides, threatening to eat itself if it had not already done so. I longed for sleep when nothing hurt, not my mind, my body, or my miserable soul.

Passing between reality and the dream world, I remembered the magical leather book I would read at school about dragons, magic, princes, and princesses. If only I had superpowers, I could fly up, up, and away. My hectic breathing became rhythmic, and even the dripping of the leak in the corner was drowned out.

Sitting at a restaurant, I was drinking in a wonderful, warm light. I looked at the menu and, before even ordering, was served a big burger dripping with oil. I gulped down saliva and gazed delightedly at the crunchy lettuce and plump patty. I opened my mouth wide and tried to take the biggest bite I possibly could, but it disappeared like ash as soon as it touched my lips.

I tried again and again but to no avail. I began to panic and anxiously snatched food from other customers for it to dissolve as well. A voice above the din of laughter and talk pierced into my soul. "Do you want to leave?"

Puzzled, I answered, "Yes, I want to leave; I only ever wanted a cheeseburger." The voice guffawed and said, "That's answer enough." The voice faded, and the angry customers started to jab me with sticks and call for me to be banned from the diner. Then my eyes snapped open.

But the jabbing in my side had yet to fade, "go do your chores," I heard the woman say as she prodded me with the handle of a broom before dropping it on top of me. I scrambled to my feet, body aching, and headed upstairs to wash, sweep, and take out the trash.

After doing the brunt of the chores, all that was left was the trash; I glanced back at the house as I headed towards the apartment trash disposal. When I confirmed nobody was watching, I started to rummage through the trash.

Finally, I found my prize, a handful of leftover meat wrapped in a napkin that I had buried at the bottom of the trash. Cramming cold pieces of leftover beef with bits of other garbage in my mouth, I grinned a little. Honor? Pride? Could those things feed, clothe, or give me a roof over my head? It had long since been a struggle to survive rather than for me to worry about such things.

Hurrying back to the house, I thought today might be good, for I had found dinner! A small step towards living a bit longer! Hobbling back to the apartment door, I cautiously crept through the door.

I guess it didn't matter if I stole from the garbage, for she somehow knew, and I was met by a welcoming grab and pull to the hair. I yelped and started to beg right away, and I learned that this technique was the best way to battle this combo. She dragged me over to the living room mirror and, pushing my face into it, yelled, "What mutt was digging in the garbage?"

"Me…" I whispered. She smiled and said, "Even Rony, our dog, is better trained than you. What does this "mutt" think it is?" Staring at my hollow eyes and sunken cheeks in the mirror, I replied, "Nothing, I am nothing." Satisfied, the woman nodded and said repeat what you just said for an hour, and I will deem your actions paid. She swaggered off like a proud mother hen.

My lips moved, but my thoughts pattered away, fleeing from what my mouth repeated. Maybe tomorrow I can steal from shops on the way to school, but it will have to be on the south side cause the north side shopkeepers are already wary of me. None of my classmates would give me their food; it made sense, I guessed, for with my smelly, hole-filled clothes, no one would get close to me.

The only thing that was close to me was the rocks that were occasionally thrown with insults like "beggar," "thief," and "trash." However, none of that mattered because in school was a tiny piece of paradise, the library. That small room was my world and many other worlds as well. The delicious silence and serenity that gathered in my library was something I wanted to savor in my heart forever.

My well-being had long since been a worry of the past to the two people I lived with. Second after second, minute after minute, trickled by. I kept glancing at the clock, which earned me a warning hiss. The light outside had long since faded, and grey clouds edged over the stars, blocking out any semblance of beauty. Finally, after what seemed like decades and more for my poor throat. I was finished with the torment, but a horrid feeling in my stomach had begun.

I clenched my stomach and dropped to my knees. The woman walked over and, grabbing a fist full of black hair, yanked it down, bringing my eyes up to meet hers. "Feeling bad?" like a body on a noose, my hands hung at my sides. I've long learned that fighting back was useless, just like me.

"Well, you should because that meat you stole spoiled four weeks ago," the woman howled in pride and pleasure. I felt my stomach heave, and the meat reached my mouth to vomit, but the woman clapped a well-manicured hand over my mouth and commanded me to swallow.

Her mouth moved, but I couldn't comprehend what was sliding from it. My heart was pumping way too loud. I tried to wrench her hands but realized that if I succeeded, there would be worse punishments.

My useless nose tried to drag in the air, but only when her clammy hands left my face could I truly breathe, stomach heaving, body shaking. My mouth filled with the taste of bile and rotten food. The muscles in my throat seized up, but I forced it to go down; my face contorted with revulsion, and my chest shook with the effort of trying to throw up and swallow simultaneously.

Survive, I told myself. Tomorrow, both the man and woman will be gone; then, I can escape.

I had been pulling this sentence out of my magic hat whenever things got almost too much for me. But then a voice, not my own or the woman's, spoke. "You are nothing, useless; no one would care for you; it is true that they are doing you a kindness, for nobody would care so much for a worthless fool like you."

No, no, I thought, that isn't true, there must be hope. I would have long since welcomed dying if that was truly the case. But that trickle of doubt and my own incompetence had kept my foot from ever leaving the doorstep.

Suddenly, the woman pulled me into her embrace. "You know I don't want to do this. However, you brought this on yourself. I treat you well. It's such a shame that you won't listen."

Patting my cheek, the woman got up and grabbed a bottle of Aspirin and, after swallowing five pills, left to down and, after fifteen minutes, ticked by, lost herself in a maze of fantasies. I hurriedly scurried to a corner and cowardly sat with my head between my knees.

I had learned to read these two people's twitch and every cough so I could be ready with the proper response when they got angry. The woman sat for a full twenty minutes, mulling over something in her head. Long, well-groomed fingers tapping on the side of her plump cheek.

Abruptly, she sat up, her mouth forming a bright smile. She sauntered to the bathroom, and I could hear the soft sounds of scratching. Another cruel idea must have popped into her head like one of her many pimples; I thought, ears following the sounds I could not see.

The woman appeared from the bathroom, swished her oily hair, and yelled into the bedroom, "Husbaaanddd, the thing keeps stealing from you." My eyes dimmed; each time I heard that address, it felt like more and more of my humanity was snatched away. It seemed that my name was long lost in time, and all that was left was a fragment of an object worthy of only disdain and disgust. I was no longer a daughter but a thing.

After several minutes, heavy footsteps slowly stomped nearer and nearer; my heartbeat seemed to slow with each coming step. "What has she done now, the man mumbled drowsily." He became more awake with each passing moment and began to get angry. "Why did you wake me up, Samantha?"

"Don't raise your voice to me," the woman said in a shrill voice. "Your daughter is the one who stole food." The man wearily looked at the woman, "So? It doesn't matter if you just fed her; she wouldn't steal." Anger flashed in the woman's eyes, causing her bushy eyebrows to sharpen and disgust to shine through.

"Why must you always argue about that mutt? It's the one getting between us all the time! Fine, it not only stole food but your precious revolver and was playing with it." The man's eyes narrowed, turning to me. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard. "Is this true?!"

"Why would I lie to you, honey," the woman drawled, pouting her too-red lips that looked like she'd eaten a bloody liver. The man nodded. His brain thought for half a second, overloaded, then gave up and was convinced with that sentence. I felt my body fly, landing dramatically in a sprawl across the other side of the room.

My head was ringing; my mouth still had the lingering taste of rot. I shut my eyes tight; maybe if I willed hard enough, I could turn back time, and these people would be human again! Time did not turn for me, and my mother ran to the bathroom to fetch the object in question.

"Here's the gun. Look at what she did to it!" The woman exclaimed.

I stared dumbfoundedly; my eyes grew cold, and no longer was there hope for better days. My mind numbed, and my rage burned cold and hot. I had to do somet- my thoughts were torn from me for when the man turned to her, the woman, in a hurry to hand over the gun, dropped it and, hitting the floor, it went off.

I felt like someone had sucker-punched me in the stomach, I sucked in a breath, and fire seemed to erupt through my entire body.

"Look what you've done, woman!" The man yelled, pointing at me.

I glanced down. Blood poured from my stomach; I couldn't tell where my stomach began, and the blood ended. My vision started to taint black, and everything around me began to blur. "I- It's not my fault!" the woman cried." The two began to bicker as blood started to seep into my white shirt, coloring it a deep crimson.

Ah, I thought, how pitiful. All I ever wished for was an escape from this hell, but freedom through a hole in my stomach? I never could have thought of it.

"Can't they stop arguing for one second? Their only child is on the verge of crossing over!" I seethed through my teeth, my body racked with a grating pain as I curled inward. I would have cursed myself if I knew what would happen just a few minutes later and encouraged them to keep fighting.

My mother, who gave up all logic to fear and emotions, let her drunken mind completely consume her, and she started to mumble nonsense. She told the man to run to the police station instead of using the phone on the wall. But I then remembered that it had long since been left unpaid. It hung uselessly on the wall, for no one ever called. After watching him shimmy out of the house, she ran over to me and tore at my shirt.

"If I can get the bullet out, it will stop her from dying and not make things worse!" She said in heaving sobs.

Now, you choose to treat me as a person?

How wonderful.

I thought that nothing could bring my consciousness back from the dark spots that had begun to overcome me, but I was dead wrong.

Claw-like nails began to scratch at the bullet hole, digging and searching for the tiny metal bit. My consciousness snapped back, and my eyes flew open. Pain tore at me. My lungs screamed for breath, failing to give me what I so desired.

The world spun; I shrieked desperately, tearing and grabbing, trying to stop the frantic scratching on my stomach. My hands, slick with blood, made it harder to do anything.

The man had left the door wide open, and I felt with every passing second parts of me leaving. I guess it was a good thing that the door was thrown open, for it made a perfect goal to get away from the pitiful scratching and whimpering of the woman clawing at me. The neighbors could call the ambulance! I thought, latching onto this hope with all of my waning strength.

Blood was everywhere, mixing with pain and staining my mind, creating a red halo around everything. Darkness closed in. I dragged my bloody, battered body inch by inch towards freedom, towards escape. I hooked my hand over the metal doorstep and realized that I had no strength to call for help.

My voice came out in a croaking whisper filled with tendrils of blood flowing down my chin. "It was tomorrow," I sobbed to myself; tomorrow was supposed to be my escape; freedom was to be mine. Yet, in the back of my head, I knew I was lying, for I would not have fled, for who in all the world would accept my sad excuse of a being? In a way, these two people and I suit each other...

Still, I cried, choking on thick blood. "Why can't I ever just be left alone?" I lifted my head for the last time to the heavens, and through my blurry vision and the cloud-swathed sky, I saw the moon. Shining, beautiful, and untouchable. I tried to drag myself into its exquisite beams to bask in its glory.

However, my heart cried out that there was no more strength to give, and my bloodstained fingers could only twitch forward towards the beams. If only I could escape anywhere, to the shining moon, the brilliant sun, another world... I would do anything. My consciousness was in pieces, and my mind had already started to go insane; rescue was far from my reality.

…Maybe death wasn't so bad after all.

A rush of blood surged against my teeth that had transformed themselves into a smile. I laughed, well more like an attempt to laugh, blood gurgling from my lips and dripping from my chin and pooling on the cement. Smiling through blood and tears blurring my vision, I realized that escape came from death itself, burning, all-consuming, yet… peaceful.

Then my head lolled to the side, gaze wide, eyes empty.