Soon It Will Be Over This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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I run up the two flights of stairs to my room to escape the awful din. The noise is on the first floor, so I escape to my third floor bedroom. When I reach the top of the stairs, I am winded. I pull my straw chair into the window eave and grab my favorite teddy bear. I turn on my radio and close the door at the bottom of the stairs. I am not allowed to do this, but no one will notice. It is still no use. I can still hear them. I try not to, but it feels like my brain is straining to hear their screams. I can make out some of what they are yelling. It has something to do with my sister not being “the perfect daughter.”

“No, don’t listen. You don’t want to hear. It will just make you upset and you know what will happen then.” I repeat this over and over inside my head but it doesn’t work. I try to concentrate on something else. I look out my window. I see kids playing in the park. They are totally blind to what is happening inside my house. I see neighbors raking their leaves and washing their cars. I see one family getting into a car together. Perhaps they are going apple picking or on a picnic. I remember when we used to do those things. As I look at my neighbors, I wish I could call out and ask for help, but I dare not. I pick up my phone and dial … I hang up. Why should I bother someone else with my problems. I remember my dogs are downstairs. The shouts make them quiver. I run down the stairs to rescue them. I risk my life. The shouts get louder. They are shouting and crying. I grab one dog. “What are you doing? Leave the dogs alone! Get back to your room!” “Help!” I start to yell and cry, too. There is nothing I can do. I pick up one dog and guide the other up the stairs to my room. After we are in my room, we curl up on my bed. I comfort them.

“Soon it will be over.” I fall asleep and wake up an hour later. My dogs are still on my bed. The last thing I can clearly remember is hearing a door slamming. I have a terrible headache. It is quiet; I can hear the fall wind blowing through our old house. This is the way it should be, I think. I put on a tape of the ocean. It is quite soothing and I always listen to it after an “outburst.” I sit back down in my straw chair, which is still in the window eave. I lean back and close my eyes. A car drives up and I am brought back to reality. I brace myself for the worst. I watch two people get out of the car. It is my father and my sister. The shouts begin again. I still cannot block it out, and this time I begin to cry. I cry for my mom. I cry for my dad. And most of all I cry for my sister. Nothing she does is right to them. I wish they would just let her be. When the shouts stop, my crying is heard. My mother comes to my room to comfort me. I always tell myself I will not talk to her because of how she treats my sister, but I cannot do it. When she leaves, I sit in my straw chair and begin to cry again. My sister comes up.

“It’s all right. Everything will be okay, You’ll see, some day we will all get along.”

I look up at my sister. I see through my tears that my sister is crying, too. We sit on the floor in the window eave, embracing and crying together.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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