Untitled - work in progress

Here I am sitting in a dark room pondering over what has just occurred over the past several hours and how it is going to end. I have no idea what I am doing, but I do know what I have just done, the blood all over my hands just proves that it was by my hands that I have spilled blood. The smell, like room temperature raw meat, a copper smell like coins in your sweaty hands.



This blood was actually spilled the day I was born, it was on the floor of the houses front bedroom that I realized I was destined to be fucked in so many different ways, the question was how was god going to allow me to handle it.



Well, lets see, my first act of violence was on a neighbor for stealing a toy car from me, I ended up getting him laying on his back and me grabbing a handful of hair and cracking his skull on the front sidewalk. He bled, but I got my car back. The next time was when my big brother was beating up on my sister and I tried to take up for her, well then he smacked me and then kicked me in the balls, that’s when I jumped on the sofa and punched him square in the nose, my father stepped in before I got my ass really kicked and from then on I took it upon myself to defend myself.



My father though he was a hard working man was never around for us, he was only around to pay bills and then to beat my mother every now and then. At first I was afraid of my father because to a tiny person like me he was a giant brute of a monster. Well, the first time I attempted to help my mother it did not go well. I opened the door and jumped from the bed onto my dads back at which he just flinched slightly and I ended up bouncing off the radiator, at which point my mother let out a scream and he walked away leaving us in the room. From that time on she advised me that my father was in the Army and was suffering from a flashback. I thought it was bullshit, but at such a young age what did I know. After that whenever he had these flashbacks, she thought she would be safer if she put me in the room with him; those times were the most weirdest of my life, only because I had never seen such facial expressions or anger expressed that way. Sweat running from his face and neck, tears running down his face but no sounds of crying, whether they were tears of anger, sorrow or pain I did not know. I was there all the time from that point on whenever he tripped.



As time went by more and more abuse came from both my mother and father, I noticed that my mother would hit me only because she might have been angry with the fact that my father trusted me more than anyone else in the house. This was because we may have “bonded” the times that he tripped on his flashbacks. My brothers and sister sometimes were jealous of that relationship as well and tried to get me into trouble with my father numerous times. Then there were the times that my brother and sister got into fights with me, there was one time my sister ran away from home and I tried to follow her in order to protect her and she beat me up really bad. I still followed her and she eventually came home so I couldn’t get her in trouble. Then there was a time when I fought with my brother before he became sick with schizophrenia, we were fighting in his room and when he hit me across the face with a 10 pound barbell weight I put his head through one of the bedroom windows and almost threw him out, my mother got between us and was able to stop it, he ran off and I got beaten for fighting with him.



I must admit there were times when the house was peaceful, like when my brother got his driver’s license and he was working and he bought video games for everyone of us to play. Then there was a time when my sister would play baseball with me and my cousins. But things change… she started dating, my brother started doing questionable things and got ill with schizophrenia, me, I started doing drugs, dating, hanging out late and leaving the house before the sun would rise. As long as I checked in with my father I was ok to do as I wished.