Author: RedneckWoman PM
About two children with abusive parents.Rated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy - Words: 1,435 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 01-07-05 - id: 1802292
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"Exodus" By Evanescence
"Two months pass by and it's getting cold
I know I'm not lost
I am just alone
But I won't cry
I won't give up
I can't go back now
Waking up is knowing who you really are"
I've run away from home, with my black bag, stuffed with a few necessities. Inside my bag is two changes of clothing, some money, a brush, a picture of the family that I've left.
Inside I feel as if I've done the right thing. I needed to get away from the abusive nature I was in. If I didn't succeed at everything, I'd be punished. People just don't get it. Every thing had to be perfect.
I'd constantly tell them that no one is perfect, but my parent's couldn't bear the thought of their "perfect" little girl has a mental issue of depression. They wouldn't have it. So I decided that I'd run away. I scribbled out a note and left it on my desk for them to read. When they finally relize that I'm gone. The note read;
"Dear Beloved Parents of Mine,
If you're reading this I've run away. I needed to get away. I've told you before that No one is perfect, but you didn't listen. I love you both, but I can't take it anymore. Things have gotten too tough. But I shall return in a month or two. Please forgive me when I return home.
I doubt that they'll get it until a little later. If they think to call my cell phone, it'd just ring, because I left it behind, on purpose. I didn't want to be reached. They need to learn that no one is perfect, and this is my last option unless completely teaching them a lesson and killing myself.
My parents don't know what that high school is like. Hell, they don't even know what I'm like. I'd wish they'd just shut up, stop fighting, stop hitting Harold or me. So they could let us talk once in a while.
Each second passes, each new step I take. I walk down the street, down the block, around the corner, around the city. Into the darkness I walk. I needed to break away. Many just don't get it, the pain, the yelling, the screaming. No one would be able to last a week in my shoes.
Meanwhile at home, Maggie's parents find her note, call her cell phone, hear it ring, just like she predicted. They heard it ring, hopefully that was a joke that she hadn't run away, and she was somewhere in the house.
They looked, and looked. But they found her cell phone, but they couldn't find her. She had to be missing for a day at least before they could do anything, and they also had to find a picture. They figured it would be too much trouble, so they told little Harold a lie.
"Oh, Harold sweetheart, Maggie is just at Grandmas. She'll be back later!"
Sense he was only a tot, he belived them. Little Harold didn't know much, he was only 4 ½. A small child, underfed, he had orange-ish reddish hair, with freckles, and green eyes. He looked just like Maggie, both were such beautiful children until they got bruises, scratches and scars on their faces. Harold didn't have as many as Maggie, yet he had a few.
Maggie continued to walk, she didn't know where she was going to go but she made it to a bus station. And picked out a random place, the quickest fair was to Washington D.C. and the ticket was $15.00. She payed for her ticket and walked out to the bus and got on. The bus was a Greyhound bus, it was a nice bus. It could hold plenty of people, she picked a seat that she could easily fall asleep in, and she sat down, and fell asleep.
As the hours raged on, she continued to sleep, more people got on, but she still didn't move much except her breathing. Finally after about 9 hours she awoke when the bus stopped, and she was in Washington D.C.
She vaugly remembered where her favorite Aunt Margie lived. But she wondered for a while then it suddenly hit her where her Aunt Margie lived. She walked down a long narrow road until she found her Aunt's small tiny house, she knocked on the door.
Her Aunt Margie walked slowly, half asleep and opened the door.
"Hi Aunt Margie!"
I startled her.
"Sweetheart, I've got two questions for you… First off, How did you get here, second, Do your parents know?"
"I got here by a bus and walking. And no my parent's don't know."
"Don't you think they should?"
"They're abusive, and they don't care I bet you, call them in a month or two."
"How long ago did you leave?"
"I mean hours, Sweetie."
"Uhhh…9 hours ago?"
"Why don't you think they would care?"
"I just know."
"How? Your not there to check."
"When little Harold went missing, who do you think went and got him?"
"Wrong…I did, because they were both drunk, and passed out on a couch."
"I'm going to call them now, so they know your safe, I won't tell them where you are, how's that?"
Even though it was against my will for her to call them, I decided I wasn't going to argue.
"Why don't you come inside, dear."
She dialed my parent's and I picked up the other phone just to listen in to see what they'd say.
"Hello, may I please speak to Heather?"
"Sure, one moment Margie." It was my father.
"Hello!" Was my mother's reaction.
"Do you know where Maggie is, I sent her an e-mail a few days ago, and I haven't herd from her yet."
"You probably wont! She's run away!" She said almost if she was happy.
"What?! She did?"
"Yep, and I like this, house is quite."
"What is wrong with you?! YOUR DAUGHTER IS MISSING!"
"Hmmm…So is Harold, but shhhhhhhhh."
"Are you drunk?"
"Mebe." She said laughing.
"Your sick." She said and then she hung up, I hung up too.
So she knew the truth, and she didn't do what she said she as going to, I then didn't know what to do.
"What about if I adopt you?"
"What If I adopt you, that way you'd live with me!"
"What about Harold."
"Sweetie, he's not going to last."
"I knew I should have brought him along!"
"Sweetheart! That'd be too much."
"A girl so young yet you couldn't care for him."
What could I say? She was right.
Two Months Later….
I've run away from my Aunt's, so I'm going home. Things are getting colder. The colder it got, the more I pushed to get home. I hopped on another bus. And walked back home, and snuck into the door.
"I'm home, Where's Harold?"
"He's dead. Sorry."
"WHAT?! YOU'VE KILLED THE ONLY THING THAT WAS STILL IMPORTANT TO ME?!"
"WE did nothing of the sort! He died due to his respatory disease."
"Yeah right, he didn't have one!"
"We didn't kill him!"
"I hate you both! Go get drunk and get all huggy-kissey and go to bed."
And they did just that. It was amazing.
I waited until they were asleep, and I went into the kitchen and slit my wrist. I didn't cry, I didn't scream, I just put the knife on the counter, with my blood still on the tip, I faited. I passed out, I then was laying in a puddle of my own blood, I died slowly. Painfully, yet it was peaceful, I don't know why, but it just was. I ridded them of their last child that was still breathing of that past morning. They didn't even cry when they saw me. I hope they don't ever have children again, so they don't have to go though what Harold and I did. May no one have to go though with that.