MY SHORT STORY

THE SWITCH 

This wrecked figure stares at me with her piercing eyes. Her frail body struggles to stand still as she walks towards me. That self loathe and despair grew stronger and stronger in her, every step she takes towards me. The closer we got together, the more unbearable was the sight of her. She bore the scars from her suicide attempts on her wrists and the tears which she cried from sixteen years ago. She gently embraces herself, as to comfort the pain and suffering she endures and hid from her neighbours. About five centimeters away from me now, I saw the burden she bore just to protect the people she loves. She was beautiful, but at that moment her ugliness and disgust sprung out as she knocked her head directly into the mirror.  She wanted this to stop; she wanted to go into the light where she knew she would finally rest. Staring at my reflection in this mirror, I crave to tell my story about my inner despise.

I am the product of my mother’s rape, which has haunted me from conception.  My grandmother always told me stories about the love which my mother, her daughter had for me before her despise. My mother committed suicide when I was only five years old. I can still remember that day when I found her lifeless body in the shower. I could remember the pool of blood and water running down the stairs, which lead me to such an unbearable and unforgettable trail.  I have always loved my mother. She was so beautiful, kind and loving, all the wonderful words one could say about someone.

However, according to ‘dem’ church people ‘she possess.’ I can recall the day my mother, grandmother and I went to church. My mother had a major breakdown. She started running and screaming around the entire church. I was so embarrassed and tried to focus more on my other surroundings. Thus, I focused on the beauty of the church. I have always felt safe there.  I have always loved art and the church’s rich depiction of art all over the walls were breath taking.  I was so astonished by the church’s beauty. The church design was rich with pictures of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.  

I wonder if Jesus saw what was happening. He was so perfect, yet God brought me out of such a forced brutal act.

Anyways, my grandmother was one of these ‘churchy churchy’ people.  She always saw the good in people, especially her daughter, my mother. Even after her near death by the hands of  her daughter. She truly loved that girl. I think I understood the reason for that.  Her only daughter, her only gem, her only diamond. 

When I was thirteen years old, I wanted to party so badly. My grandmother always warned me about the company I moved with, but I disregarded everything she said. But now I regret it. I can recall 13^th December 2008, that night when my whole life changed.   

Whilst walking to my house, I felt the cold touch of the man I long to forget. He’s piercing dark eyes scared me, yet it felt a bit welcoming. He grabbed my hands as to pull me closer to him.

“Get away old man!” I shouted.  That didn’t stop him from pulling my body towards his.

“You are a beautiful child,” he would say.

That was the last thing I remembered that night. When I woke up the following day, I felt paralyzed and weak from my waist down. The sheets were dirty and smelled like a decomposing body. That was a nasty smell.  I then realized that I was in an old abandoned house. I slightly turned over to my side to get out of this nest of pain. Unfortunately I saw the corpse of the man I met last night. He looked so pale and dreary. 

I usually saw in movies, persons touching the neck of a lifeless body to find out whether that person was alive.  I tried exactly what I saw in the movies, but I felt nothing. However, his body was so cold. I then ran outside screaming for help. I brought whoever I could to the scene. The police men finally came, and asked me a few questions. I could not remember anything from the time he held on to me tightly, so I could hardly answer the questions.

Later on, I got to know that the man’s name was Mr. Gerald Ficter. Ficter was a well known and well respected man in my community. When word got around that I found his lifeless body, all “dem” church people start spreading propaganda. I was the talk of the town.

One month later, I realized that I was getting fatter. People started saying that the “devil growing bigger and bigger in me.” Everyone thought that I was a true reflection of my mother; physically, emotionally and psychologically.  Eight months later, I had a beautiful daughter at age fourteen.  

When this happened, I was considered the black sheep among everyone else.  However, my princess brought joy and laughter in my life. I have always wondered whether she will relive the legacy of my mother and I. I hoped and prayed she did not. My prayers were truly answered, but not in the manner I expected. When my princess was two years old, she passed away. The doctor said that they were surprised to see her live for such a long time.

Despite feeling sad for some time I was happy. I knew she would never get the opportunity to experience what my mother and I lived through. I needed to stop this family legacy. So there was only one thing to do; and I am going to deal with it now.

Now I face myself once more; going through the scenes of my life, which I now share.  I held unto these images so tightly, crying and praying to God to save my soul.  That moment was so near, I could have seen the darkness from setting in.

Laying on my bed, sweating endlessly, reality finally struck me. I opened my eyes, only to realize that I was dreaming about the life I never had.