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I'll begin at the beginning, end at the end and whatever
happens in between, happens.
Okay then, the beginning.
My mother was murdered.
I was sixteen at the time.
I found her body - I didn't scream or even cry, I don't know why.
It's a pretty revolting thing for a sixteen year old to find, but I just
sat there looking at her, in shock I suppose, memorising it for some morbid
reason.
She was slumped over the coffee table, as if she had been
just tossed aside like garbage - worthless.
Her mouth was open, like she'd left life in mid scream, and her face held
the expression of pain. Her left
hand was in a fist and her right hand looked as though she had been reaching for
something; open at the end of an outstretched arm.
There was blood everywhere you looked, sometimes in large pools,
sometimes just drops here and there. She'd
been beaten to death.
Sorry if this is turning you off, but I figured you might
like a full picture. The scene is
still clear to me, so I figured I may as well write it down so it might not be
on my mind so much. Like putting it
on paper will take it out of my head, maybe.
Anyway, I didn't really think of anything in particular,
except that she didn't deserve to die like that, not many people do.
But some do, some definitely do.
The silence got too much for me after a while, and I called
the police. I just couldn't stand
everything being so still - my mother wasn't always a very quiet person, if you
know what I mean, so the silence added to the surrealism of it all.
I stayed at my sister Christina's house for a while, with
her maladjusted husband, Robert, which was a less than wonderful experience.
Chris was constantly depressed, Robert was constantly drunk, and I was
constantly trying to get out.
As time went on, I left school, managed to find a tacky
job, moved out of Chris' place and mixed in with a bad crowd - but not
necessarily in that order. I slid
down hill fast; I felt destructive and I guess I had a knack for it too, because
before too long it started having a snowball effect.
Sex, drugs and rock and roll, isn't that what they say?
Well, that's what my life was from that point on, minus the rock and roll
usually. Let me just tell you that
the experience of mum's death changed me somewhat, and the town I live in isn't
really like this --there wasn't a lot of us young drug leaden delinquents
hanging around, much less a place where murder is a common occurrence.
It's one of those small, middle of nowhere places.
There's never a summer because there's no beach, and there's never a
winter because it doesn't snow. The
younger guys all seem to concentrate on being loners because it's cool.
And the girls hang in packs where they all dress the same and giggle like
idiots. Most of the people know
each other, the old people do anyway because they grew up together during the
war or something. It's very 'small town' like that. But there are some of us freaks lurking around in the corners
who rebel against all that sort of thing and like think our lives are more
exciting, when really are lives are garbage.
My life was nothing, I can tell you that.
Except for one small secret…. (to be continued)
© Cynthia M. Piromalli 2002
©2002 StoriesByEmail.com
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