I still remember it all, ya’ know. I remember the sound of the rain on the roof. I remember the sounds of the birds singing. I remember the sounds of a crowded street, the sound of car horns, people yelling, and tires screeching. I remember the sound of music, the gentle lull of classical, my mother loved it. She’d listen to it all day, and dance around the kitchen. I remember the sound of her laughter as she’d spin me around as the song would change to classical rock. I remember the sound of footsteps passing by my room late at night. I remember my mother’s lullabies. I remember the screaming that haunted the house. I remember the sound of tear drops hitting the ground. I remember the sound of drunken nights, of shattered glass and slurred sounds. I remember my mother telling me it was alright. I remember her voice as she told me fairy tales and bed time stories.
I remember the sound of her screams. I remember the sound of the beatings. I remember her telling me I was safe. I remember that night like it was yesterday. I listened to the sounds of them arguing. I remember the crickets chirping as they told me it was late. I remember the sound of the gun being cocked. I remember the sound of the bullet being shot. I remember the squeak as my bedroom door opened. I remember the sound of my father’s apology as the gun clicked. And then I remember the silence. I haven’t heard a sound since that night, the night my father killed my family. He killed my mother first. He tried to kill me next. And then he killed himself. The doctors tell me he didn’t shoot straight. They tell I’m lucky to be alive. I don’t think so. My family is gone. My hearing is gone. I have nothing left.
They tell me I’m broken. That seeing my mother’s dead body messed up my head. That I zone out too much and that’s why no one wants me. Sometimes I sitting in dark room, and just remember the sounds. I’m scared though. I’ll forget. I haven’t heard a sound in over 12 years. They’re fading. The memories, the happy ones that is. I’m struggling to remember the sounds of my mother. I miss her. It’s been so long. She was killed when I was 5. A neighbor heard the shots and came over to see what happened. They say I was only just hanging on. Sometimes I wish I died that night. I wish I didn’t survive. What did I have to live for? Going in and out of foster homes, never having a family, or someone I count on. Being in and out of hospitals as they try to solve my seizers or try to get me to talk. I have one more year before even the Government gives up on me.
I gave up believing. I have no hope. I have no one. I need someone. I need someone who can make me believe. I want believe that the world isn’t a crazy, cruel, sadistic world. I don’t want to give up. I want believe in fairy tales again. I want to hope that there is still love in the world, because I haven’t seen it.
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