So much for innocence...

July 22, 2009
I was starting to come home to a house of pieces more and more often. I'm in sixth grade and I'm just a kid- a kid named Alex Meyer. But this is the life I have to lead- the life I was stuck with. There are days when the fighting gets physical- and I’m usually the one that ends up cleaning up. I clean up what I can, of course, but there are things- emotional things- that I can’t clean up. I can’t even take care of my own emotional life. How, then, was I supposed to take care of the lives of two grown adults that have made their own decisions to get them to this point? I just can’t do it.

Today, I held my breath as I placed a hand on the doorknob. It was quiet- too quiet. Something was wrong- way wrong, and I flung the door open and turned the light on. I felt something rise in my throat- I wasn’t sure if it was emotional or physical, but I felt it painfully all the same.

Glass was scattered all over the floor- the glass of broken bottles, glass that I knew would cut me if I stepped on it. As I stood there, a feeling of despair overwhelmed me. I wasn’t sure what to do, where to begin to pick up the pieces. There were pieces, alright, scattered all over.

I started at my feet.

I had a pair of gloves in my pocket- I had learned to do that after the last time I had sliced my hands open- they hadn’t stopped bleeding for hours because of the multiple amount of shards. There were times when I didn’t even feel the pain until I saw the actual marks, the actual wounds. I wondered what that was supposed to mean.

Now, the gloves protected my hands from most of the damage, but I occasionally still got cut. It was better than everything hurting me, however, and I knew it.

But I couldn’t do the same thing for my heart. Each piece of glass, each shard, brought searing pain that shot through my entire body. I wanted to fall on the floor and die. I just wanted to die and not have to deal with this anymore. I felt like I was fighting a battle and losing it. I was fighting back, giving it my all, but still losing.

What did I expect? Fate had done this to me. I had gotten the short stick of life- plain and simple. I didn’t pretend to understand the reason- I have no power to do that. But I’m kind of used to it- it’s not a good thing, but I’ve gotten used to it over time.

The house was still silent. I cleaned a walkway to the living room and stopped in my tracks. I had thought that nothing could surprise me any longer, but once again I had thought wrong.

Both of my parents lay dead. I wanted to throw up.

I couldn’t think. I thought I heard my heart skip a beat, but I only felt myself fall before everything turned black.





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