I always thought of life and death as two completely distinct worlds. But now, life and death seem to mesh into one force, to the point where I am unable to tell which one I am experiencing. One of the most common fears in the world is death. However, I don’t believe our society is afraid of dying in itself, but rather the unknown, intimidating reality of what happens after death. And right now, I may hold the answer.
His fists pound onto my feeble figure, forming crimson patches of skin, evenly distributed bruises, and blood to squirt out of open wounds like water from a sprinkler. The pain is excruciating. This is the worst my father has ever beat me. It’s not like I planned to stay out three hours after curfew. I didn’t want to become so drunk that my head felt like a bowling ball. I would never yearn to see my dad like this, beating me like I am a dog. Tears cascade from my bloodshot eyesballs slowly, but I dare not make a sound. I just allow the bitter drops of agony to stumble downward, leaving streaks of rivers across my face. They are the only signs that I can fight through the pain.
My mind goes in and out, in and out. An aura of blackness forms around me, but is quickly replaced by visions of the monster overpowering me. I used to call him my dad. I used to wake up within the depths of the night just to let him know that I loved him. But now, my feelings are undefined, a much too complex mixture to attempt to make any sense of. I focus on an untouched area of my knee so as to not look this man in the eye. I couldn’t. I would instantly break down.
The mist of darkness swallowing me returns. And this time, it never releases me.