Door to Freedom
A home. A very important piece in life, I would say. I, Malorie Blunt am an average twelve year old child, loved by my brother, Edward. We lived in a simple house in Oakwood Town. Back to the subject about home; it is supposed to be an important piece, but to me, it acts like a cage that locks you away from the light of this world.
I watched men in dark blue uniforms inspecting my house as I stood near a window in the living room. An ambulance's light flickered, creating attention as neighbours gathered on the road in front of my home. I saw them whispering to one another, speculating the event that had happened. Some of them were being questioned by the investigators.
Eleven hours earlier
Father left the house, slamming the door behind him. I stood from my crouching position on the staircase and approached eighteen-year-old Edward. His shaggy brown hair was in a mess. His fair skin on his face was bruised with small cuts and his hazel eyes were overflowed with anger and sorrow. I cupped his cheeks and gave him a light kiss on his forehead before embracing him.
"It wasn't your fault," I told him softly.
His body remained stiff. Edward was not just rebuked but beaten mercilessly for losing a hundred and eleven dollars from mother's bank account. A hundred and eleven dollars was all that was left. Father – an unemployed single parent – had been withdrawing the money with absolutely no control to buy cheap liquor from the store to drown his pain and desolation. The truth was, Edward did not lose the money but he cashed out everything and kept in a safer place. He wrapped his warm, muscular arms around me and swore, "I'm getting us out of this Hell. I promise."
With mother long gone, Edward was both mother and father to me. He was very young when he first cradled me in his arms. Father, on the other hand, disgusted the sight of me. It reminded me of Eric in 'The Phantom of the Opera'. Eric was born deformed, so everyone feared the sight of him, disgusted the sight of him. His mother gave him a mask to hide his flaw and has never had the courage to look at him. I was not born deform, but my father just despised seeing me. I had never felt his lips pressing lightly against my cheek or his arms around my body, protecting me from harm. To avoid me being a punching bag whenever he returns home drunk, Edward allows himself to feel the sting and wrath of a madman!
Later that night, Edward had things packed – including the money. I was eager to leave with him. We could finally be free. Twelve years of pain, frustration, anger and sorrow was about to get to get washed away by the waves of hope and bliss. As we descended the wooden staircase, the front door made a creaking sound as it opened, revealing dad with a metal baseball bat in one of his hands.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked dizzily. His scruffy look made him appear almost like a criminal.
Edward pushed me back a little. "Away from you," he growled.
Father's eyes were burning with the flames of fury, and they were locked to me. "You thief! You think you could just run away with your mother's money?" he snarled. The door shut lock behind him as he stormed towards us.
"Run, Malorie! Run!" Edward yelled and his hand pushed me, giving me a boost to flee. With great haste, I rushed back to the second floor. Edward's shriek of anguish pain filled my ears.
"Come here, you thief!" father cried at me.
"Leave her alone!" Edward shouted. Those were the last words that escaped his mouth. The last I heard of his voice.
I ran into a room. As my hands held the doorknob to lock it, father pushed right through the door. He had sent me flying across the room. He slowly pushed the door close behind him. I struggled to escape, but he stepped on my ankle. His weight was crushing my bones.
"EDWARD!" I screamed. Hot tears streamed from my eyes.
"You were born to bring bad luck. You killed your own mother when she gave birth to you. You steal your mother's money. You used your own brother to do your dirty work," he blamed me. My eyes met his. I saw blood on his T-shirt. At some point, I knew Edward was not coming to rescue me.
"Dad, please, it hurts!" I pleaded desperately. "Please, stop!"
"The pain is just about to begin," he said darkly. He raised the bat in his hand over his head. My eyes shut tightly. I tried not to think of the pain. I thought of Edward – his warm embracement that gave me comfort.
The emergency staff pushed a thin bed with wheels out of the house. I saw a body on the bed covered with white sheet. The breeze blew the edge of the sheet and over the lifeless body's face. I saw…me – lying motionless on that bed. Two policemen escorted father out. He was drenched in blood – his children's blood. My body was placed next to Edward's pale and cold figure in the ambulance.
I watched from the window as the staff quickly closed the doors of the back of the ambulance. A hand took mine; Edward smiled as he stood next to me. My lips formed a faint smile. He told me gently, "We're free now. Let's go." I felt a relief feeling. It was freedom and serenity. There we stood, hand in hand – like what a family should be. We walked out of the house together.