A blinding light cuts through my soul, like a butcher’s knife, which fast and rough slices through a piece of meat, splitting it into two pieces. The first picture in my mind is that, as my fading conscience slowly comes back. The sound of the metal scratching against the board of tree underneath the meat screams in my ears. These dreams about meat and blood, about real, living existences. The metaphor for the grotesque, the damned and the destroyed life. How there is no difference between this piece of dead, decaying body part, and the living's bodies. Because in the end, we are all alike, we are just programmed to think, sense fragrances, and feel.. In the exact same way for everybody.
I open my eyes slowly. Still blinded by the light, and I'm in vain when it comes to seeing. I sense the grass beneath my fallen body. The blood that sizzles down from my eyebrow, like a small river, flowing through a forest. I sense how the pain pulsates through my corpus, and how the muscles locks in, in complete exhaust, from the things that happened yesterday. I just want to lay here for another moment, just for a while…
Memories rushes back to me, like a lightening through my brain. I see him, my father, with the bloody fists, and a folded expression on his face. The room that contained disharmony and destruction, and the red curtains hanging still, mockingly, as if they blamed me. I understand if they did. I see my mother's bleeding visage… The beauteous, fragile face, covered in what makes the difference between "living" and the dead. I remember her cries, as his hands fastened the grip around her, and threw her against the cracking walls. The sobs which was the only sound able to be heard, as if it was in slow motion. His kicks, bitemarks, and bloody knuckles.
I lay still. The thought of how I left her, as I panicking ran out of the door. I want to be left here, that is all I deserve. Covered in blood, I feel the open wounds, he has imprinted on my body. The only one I have ever loved, I left, without knowing how she would end up. More beaten, perhaps? Hopefully more alive, than the tragic life we both lead… It can't classify as a life.
I left her. I fucking left her. Just to save myself. And what did it do for me? Now, I'm without my mother, but forced back to the house of destruction and death, as I do not have anywhere else to go. I bear the shame, and I bear the guilt.
Leave me here, beaten black and blue, naked, it's my own fault. I do not deserve anything else.
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