Lay the Beast with your heart

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Basically, it about a boy that was abused by his father than when he get the chance to return the pain he did to him, he refuse to take it after starting his life all over.

Submitted: December 19, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 19, 2007



Lay the Beast with Your Heart

By Antonio Roberson

I wasn’t sure why. Why was he like that? Why did he hit me or my mother? He would…throw things if he didn’t get his way, or if things weren’t in his right order. I was the only but he would want me to walk in his shadows, oh what a shadow that was to walk in. The Beast was what he called him because when he would snore, he would sound like a growing monster. His voice was very deep, just like his dark heart. He said that he loved us, that he loved me. That I was his little man, but after he would take drinks from “The Bottle” I would become just some kid you would see on the street in his eyes. Now I’m not one of those kids who will cry and complain about how bad there lives were and that they don’t know why they were even born, because it wasn’t just hardships and pain that was in my life, I had great times as well. The best time was when I found the art of writing, and found what my soul purpose in life to do, to become a writing and show the entire world what’s in my mind and soul.

I lived in an old townhouse behind an alley with three women, my mother, my oldest sister Ashley, and the third youngest Alexis, my youngest sister Aaliyah wasn’t born yet, and…The Beast. I will not give his real name but I will call him The Beast. What was confusing then and still now is that I don’t have the same last name as neither of my parents-but that’s jumping off the subject. Chicago Heights was where my childhood really started, after our house burned down to nothing but ashes by a Molotov cocktail when I was around five or six, but this isn’t about that particular time in my life, this was about the time my mind, body, and soul was crushed by The Beast.

It was the day of the 9/11 attacks. I first heard of the attacks when me and my entire class was pulled out, right in the middle of my worst subject, math. My friends Tatyana, Keala, and Olivia were as clueless as a baby watching the Spanish channel. We were only happy that we were getting out of math. I had strange variety of friends. Tatyana was what you called an “over-developed-person-for-her-age-if-you-know-what-I-mean,” type of person. She and I had the same interest. We would watch late night animes and called each other a whisper about what we saw. She was no taller than I was, a little darker that I was and we both wore glasses. Keala was the lightest of all us, and taller. She had a little squeaky voice that just drove you insane when you first heard her but then you grew to love it in the future. She had the longest brown hair in the class and she always kept it neat and smooth. She was also the smartest in the class. I would always try to sit by her so I could get all the answers from her. Olivia was my play sister and also my first crush, but I would never tell her that though. She was the darkest of all of us and the toughest in our class, but she made it look so beautiful. Her black smooth hair stopped at her shoulders, her eyes changed colors like mine and like all of us, and she loved to sing in the choir at the school down the street from us. They brought into the gym where they had placed bleachers for us to sit down and be cramped up with the other black students in our school. Our principal, Mrs. Walter was a nice, middle-aged woman that always gave me a second chance. She was the only adult in the school at that time that I could talk to on a personal note and I wouldn’t feel bad after a said something that I truly felt.

“Student of John F. Kennedy Elementary School.” Her voice was loud and firm, she didn’t need a microphone to speak. “I apologize to taking you out of your classes, but due to the events that just happened, we a required that we dismiss school early.” You could feel the student ready to jump from your seats with excitement, except me, I was completely confused because I had no life after school and going home at 1:00 in the afternoon, I would be completely bored. Then after everyone’s excitement ended, we became even more confused. Why were we getting out of school early? The students began to ask anyone they knew why we were getting out of school and should we be worried about what’s going to happen. Then it happened, the entire school got quiet as the words flew out of someone’s mouth.
“The United States got Bombed, and it’s being said that the government planning on doing a nation-wide draft to the army.” Instead of feeling the excitement, you felt the fear and the worried growing inside the children. Their minds and hearts worried about that loved ones who were in the army, or old enough to be drafted in the army, it made some of them cry. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know why that were crying, I mean, it was all the way in New York, why would that draft people from all the way over. That was my thought.

“All the students will call their parents and tell them that they will be on their way home.” The principal said before walking away. They took all of us back to our rooms. My friend Olivia cried and cried because her father or uncle was in the army and she didn’t want him to go the war. I didn’t have anyone to cry about, I technically didn’t care, and they weren’t going to bomb Chicago Heights out of all the cities in the country so why worry?

I was the first on in my class so I was the first to call my house. I knew that my mother wasn’t there and the only person there was The Beast. When I called him and told him that I was coming home I knew that something wasn’t right. He was…distant and mad, like something was going very wrong and he was being affected by the outcome. I didn’t pay much mind to then and I wish I had because when I got home, everything went from bad to worse. I walked through the front door with my sisters and he was sitting there, on the stairs, with “The Bottle” in his hand. His eyes were cold, heartless, with pain written all over them. The fear crept up inside me, I could feel my knee began to shake. We all knew who he was looking at, me.

“Ashley, Alexis.” He said, his voice, low and quiet. “Go up to your room.”

They said nothing and raced upstairs, leaving me and the pain with the Beast. He slowly stood from the bottom stair, “The Bottle” still in his hand. I notice that all of his stuff was packed in a white garbage bag, my mother had kicked him out, and I knew why. I had told her that I had caught him cheating on her, and he was going to pay me his thanks.

I dropped my bag and before I could even look up, sharp pain exploded in my stomach. My entire breathing stopped. I couldn’t think, or focus on anything, just the pain. I fell to my knees, holding my stomach and trying to breathe. He said nothing when he hit me. He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking through. More sharp pain waved through my body as he kicked me and punched me again. My body was going numb, my mind gone, my soul was crushed. An adrenaline began to kick in. I grabbed his foot and pulled him to the floor then got up and ran into the living room. He was right behind me. I could feel and smell his breath on me. He grabbed me by my shirt and yanked me toward him, making me stare at my fate. His eyes change with emotion, like mine and his was the darkest of brown, almost black. He gripped my shirt and with great force he threw me into the glass table that was a few feet from us. The crash echoed through the house. The pain screamed off my body, but it wasn’t me screaming. I couldn’t say anything, I was speechless, shocked, crushed. I could feel my vision fading, the blood coming from my body, and his gaze bearing down on me. Not a word left his mouth, not a tear fell from his eyes. He grabbed his bag from the floor and headed to the door when he stopped. The last words I heard before I faded away were him saying: “I love you.”

I woke what seem like a days, but really hours I woke in the hospital with my mother laying next to me with my hand in hers. I had really no idea what had happened to me and I really didn’t know where I was. I mother had told me that I had tons of glass in my back and head and that I had a slight concussion, and that she hadn’t seen or heard from The Beast since what had happened. I didn’t cry, I wasn’t going to cry and I created a different version of me, the one that didn’t care, the one that was cold hearted and could now hurt people and not feel any remorse, like he did to me. There was one main feeling that I had, rage and revenge. I swore before I died that I would return the all the pain and suffering that he did to me but ten times worse.

The years past and I didn’t hear from him, nor didn’t his mother (my grandmother) and because of that day, I had been through psychology because of the dreams that I kept having and I had develop a very violent behavior. It wasn’t that I wanted everyone else to suffer like I did, it was that there was that rage, that hunger for him to hurt like I did and since he wasn’t there that I had to put my frustration out on someone else. But as I grew up, my mind started becoming more intelligent, more calm and collected. I had found a more productive way to channel my anger. I had found the art of writing. With that pen and paper I was able to pour my soul and pain into the paper than into someone else. Even though I still wanted him to suffer on the inside, most of the anger and hate that I built to him was poured onto that paper. I came up with the conclusion that violence wasn’t the answer and that you do other thing besides hurting yourself and someone else. I had thought that all the way through my junior high years…when he finally came back.

I had moved from Chicago Heights to the Richton Park to get away from my past memories I was starting to get my life back together that knock on the door changed everything. I was going outside to play baseball with my friend he stepped into our house, uninvited and unwanted. He was so much skinnier then when I last seen him, like he hadn’t eating. He looked at me with the love and caring that would make a mother cry.

“Terrell.” He said stepping up to me but stopping when I gripped the bat that was in my hand. “I’m so happy to see you and I am so sorry for everything.”

This was my chance, my only chance to show how much pain I wanted him to feel, like that day he nearly killed me. To show how much I wanted him to pay my respects with his blood.
“You need to leave, and never come back.” I said slowly, then with more force. “NOW BEFORE I REALLY HURT YOU!!” He stepped back away from me, he could see that I was very serious, he looked hurt. It was my time to step up to him. “Leave, and never come back.” My voice was cut-through. He walked to the door then looked at me like I was the one who hit him.

“You’re growing up I see.” He said calmly, before walking out the door.

You can hurt people with word better than your hands and this event shows this. I haven’t seen him since and I don’t want to, but if I do, I would want to tell him thanks for everything. Violence isn’t the answer.

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