Turning Dreams into Reality

I remember when I was younger, and the only things I truly worried about were whether I had charged my DS, whether my outfit was okay, why my hair was not working the way I wanted it to, and the expectation of seeing my friends on the bus. Back when the simplest of things seemed to be the most important. Now it's all about the hours worked, the chores done, and the bills paid. Taking the time to enjoy life feels almost sinful nowadays. Trying to maintain appearances and keep up with the standard, while standing out, but making sure you keep a balance between being uniquely you and being just like everyone else. All, while not caring what anyone has to say.

I moved from the middle of nowhere to a slightly bigger middle of nowhere. Hoping to find something. What? Your guess is as good as mine. I moved out here on a whim, broke with nobody I could turn to for a few hundred miles. Yet, the day always starts the same, the stupid alarm goes off with its obnoxious noise. I then roll out of bed and drag myself to the bathroom for the regular morning rituals. Dress, then turn on the coffee pot. Allowing my mind to wander thoughts of life, and what am I working towards? Where do I want to be in five years from now?

The dream is to own a house on a large plot of land. With a little farm, I'm able to keep myself more than stable, free to do as I please with no hours to keep track of. Three dogs, one cat, a coop full of chickens, and a horse to run through the trails I make in the small batch of woods within the property. Just requires enough money to purchase the property, and I can figure out the rest later. That's a down-the-road goal, a passion project. Right now, I want to find a cozy little house where I can hear only my thoughts. Everything is so structured nowadays with guidelines, polices, and rules. My own damn rules without having to be wary of the eggshells other people's rules put out for me to balance on. It will be entirely mine; it will be the freedom that I have been longing for. I still remember the first time I found myself craving for it, freedom.

I was in the kitchen washing dishes, and my little sister was in the living room playing with her toys. I couldn't have been older than twelve at the time. I kept telling her to quiet down so she wouldn't wake up our dad, who was sleeping in the recliner. My mom was going to be home in thirty minutes, and if I hadn't finished cleaning. I was going to be in a world of trouble. There was a loud tumble of toys that came from the living room. Shortly after, a shrieking sound followed that had shaken me to my core. I dropped the dishes, rushing to the living room. Our dad had awakened in a fury. His hand was gripping my sister's arm with the other raised above him to strike.

"Why are you holding her like that? She was playing with toys!" I rushed towards her

"I don't need to explain myself to you, I'm the adult. You are the child." He ruffed. I hated that statement with a passion. He's a glorified paycheck who thinks he ever did anything. He didn't clean, help with the school things, the doctor things, or the extracurriculars. He sits in his chair screaming at the football games or boxing matches. If he wasn't doing that well, I'm not sure he wasn't there, a part-time parent for when he wanted to do things.

"Let go of her. She didn't do anything wrong." I pulled at his arm, which took his attention away from her. As soon as she was free from his grip, she ran to the stairs by the kitchen, crying her little heart out. I started backstepping as I watched his body shift towards me. Have you ever had that feeling you fucked up, but it was still the better option out of the two provided? Me too. This moment, right now, he came barreling towards me. I turned and ran to the kitchen, not smart, but I am only a tween, so cut me some slack. Cornered by the sink with both counters at my side. With a six-foot, bear-like man standing in front of me. I went to slide past him, but I was not as fast as I thought. Taking his forearm and pinning me into the fridge, he placed the other around my throat. Once he had a good hold, his forearm moved away from me, only for him to shove his fat stub fingers in my face and proceed to scream.

"You won't be able to always go running to your mom every time I say or do something. You're just a little liar anyway, remember." He's referring to when he was too lazy to bend down and fix my baby book and thought it would fix itself if he shoved it hard enough. It snapped halfway through the spine. My mom was furious; he told her I did it and asked him to take the blame. I ended up grounded for 3 weeks.

"Take your hands off of me! If mom comes in and sees you holding me like this, I won't be the one in trouble. Tiny's watching, my sister, whom he looked over at. I took the opportunity to kick his knee and slip from his grip. I grabbed my sister from the stairs and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. There wasn't a lock on it, so I pushed my back against the door, using my feet to anchor myself with the sink. Seconds later, a hard rush to the door jolting me a bit. Yet, I sat firm as he pounded against the door; it felt like the longest game of tug-of-war. Then all of a sudden it stops, I hear him rushing up the stairs, then the back door slamming open. I stayed still, unsure of what was happening. The door started getting buckled again, but this time I heard my mother's voice.

"What the hell are you guys doing? I need to use the bathroom." My sister and I jumped up and rushed her for an embrace. Crying frantically, both of us stumbling over words to explain what had just happened. My mother's face turned sour, she went upstairs, and all we heard was muffled arguing. My sister and I sat in the living room waiting for my mom to come down. Once she did, she looked over at me, exhausted. Responding with.

"Maybe you should know your place. I understand you're frustrated with having a new father figure. That doesn't give you the right to act out. Maybe you should go for a walk and calm down." I couldn't believe the words that were pouring from her. Felt like a dagger to the heart. My sister started crying again.

"But daddy was hurting her; he had his hands on her throat." My sister continued sobbing. I gave her a little nudge; her teary eyes looked up to me. I mouthed, 'It's okay, tiny.' I got up without a word. Put on my shoes, grabbed my sweater, and went out the back door. The town we had lived in was small, with a population of 253. Retirement town with nothing, but 100-year-old skeletons and zombies roaming around. We had four paved roads running through it. I decided I would walk until the streetlights came on. Watch the sunset over the corn field. Just breathe. I was sitting under a tree when the streetlights started to flicker on. I let out a deep sigh, pull myself off the ground, and head home. Before I opened the door, I could hear music playing. As I walked in, I was greeted with an aroma of pasta and garlic bread. My mom is in the kitchen dancing with my sister and laughing with my dad. It's weird how everything seems better without me around. Maybe I am the problem. My dad noticed me first and gave me a sly grin. Like a symbol of gotcha.

"Just as we were having fun, look what the cat drags in." He says grimy

-Beep-

There goes the coffee maker, and the day begins.