The Night In Jail

A Story by RP Bunny

A night in jail

It’s dark with shining, metal bars. I had no memory of the past night nor my past at all. My pockets felt heavy but I ignored them for now. I was too distracted by my light purple shirt and navy blue pants torn as if I was in a fight with a bear and lose.

I looked around for my purple pumps, but they were nowhere to be seen. My feet felt cold against the cement floor. I pace around to keep them warm, but it’s no good.

I can’t even focus on my feet or clothing because I remembered my heels. My memory wasn’t fully gone. I just needed to find it. I quickly dig through my pockets to see what I had and what I could remember. I had a pen leaking with blood as if the ink was let loose. I feel frightened as a memory of my brother comes to me. A memory so horrible that I feel threatened to even think about.

He had this pen in his hand. He was just writing for his english class when father and stepmother grabbed my arm. They were more drunk than an irishman. My brother immediately slapped their hands away from my arm and pulls me behind him. He looked angry… No… furious. As if he were tired of always seeing them hurt me. They ended up throwing an empty beer bottle at my face. Suddenly, my brother lost it. I was bleeding and crying on the floor, just watching him endlessly stab them both with the pen.

I come out of the memory and throw the pen in the corner after looking to make sure no one was there. I hesitantly reached into my pocket once more. This time, I can across a mirror. A memory of my father came with it. It was before his drinking addiction, it was before he married my stepmother..

He gave me a mirror with the most beautiful designs on it. Lovely, princess pink roses surrounded by gorgeous, silver hearts only to open to my face. I wasn’t happy with how I looked back then. My father always told me that the inside is more beautiful than what was on the outside.

I once again come out if the memory and open the mirror to see the scar from the first memory. My scar went from right above my left eye all the way across my right. I was half blind. I couldn’t believe my father was both caring and abusive.

I once again decided to pull out anything that I can out of my pockets. This time, it was a peaceful picture of the three of us. My hair was sunrise red with ocean blue eyes. My freckles were barely noticeable back then. My skin was as white as snow. My brother has the look of death ever since my mother died. This picture was taken after while we were all at the funeral. His grass green eyes look as if he’s no longer worth of life. His golden blonde hair, with a little blue dyed in it, was straighter than the straightest line. My father’s average blue eyes were so sad and filled with grief. We changed so much in one year. Mother died and we were all sad, but we changed even more the longer we went without her. Father became an alcohalic and my brother became a bloodthirsty monster. I don’t know how I’ve changed but I do know that I can’t be good. I have to push myself to be better than the person in this cell.

My jacket pocket had something heavy in it. I was slightly curious but I wanted to save it for later. So I retrieve the last thing in my pants pockets. It was a letter from mother.

Dear Cearra,

We both know that I’m slowly dying but you still can’t tell your father, brother, or anyone. I love all of you to pieces, but I can’t help having cancer. I’d rather them think that I killed myself because I was protecting them instead of the fact I can’t let people know I’m sick. You are my little angel and i know you are made for great things. Let this secret be the start. Let my life carry on in your heart. Be a good person. Don’t let anyone tell you you are anything less than fantastic.

Love,

Mommy

My eyes start to fill with tears. I couldn’t believe how much horror I went through as a child. I was so glad that I forgot and I wish I’d never remember anything else. My mother had a little girl keep a secret so big from the people she cared about the most. I remember mother asking me to pull the trigger. I couldn’t do it. She got on her knees and held the gun to her own head. She forced my finger in the trigger and she pulled it. I killed my own mother. Or at least that’s how it felt.

I was so scared to look into my jacket pocket for the heavier item. I was afraid it was only a memory I’d regret. All I can remember is all the torture in my life. I thought one more tromatizing memory won’t do a thing to me now. I start thinking about my brother and father as if I would have disappointed them far more than I’ve been scared of them.

I think to myself that it can’t get much worse. So I pull out the last item from my right pocket. It was a broken music box. It had the same hearts and roses as the mirror. It was the last gift my mother gave me. She told me, “Don’t be afraid of the dark. Your smile will always shine through it no matter what. But if you don’t believe me, this song was passed down our family for generations. We sang it to our children and they sang it to their children. And sometimes when I feel like all hope is lose, I listen to this box and I feel like my mom is right beside me every step of the way.”

I began to cry because I knew of her condition and I knew I wasn’t going to be the one who needed this box. Father would be the one who needed to feel like she’s still here but she didn’t care about how he’d react. Only me. My father knew that a mother only passed it down a few days before she dies. Father was furious at me for taking it. And every time I played it to help me feel like she’s still here, he’d beat me. One day, he finished beating me and throw the box across the room. He hit it with a bat. I fought again him for the first time. I would allow him to beat me if he needed, but I would never let him take the one thing I have left of my mother. I fought for a good 30 minutes until it finally broke, along with my heart.

My stepmother was just laughing at me, calling me weak and helpless. All she ever told me was how pathetic I was, but she had no idea. He knew that the music box’s song was the only thing keeping my brother and I sane. It was only a matter of time before brother lost control.

I was in such grief after losing my mother a second time. I If I remember anymore, I will too. Soon after my brother attacked father and step-witch, I saw that father was truly dead, but step-devil lived. I could control myself when I saw her. I immediately grabbed a spoon and carved out what I thought would be a black. To my disappointment, it was a heart. I watched as she died. I laughed as if she told a hilarious joke. The doctors tried to take me away. Unfortunately, I fought back, wanting to stab her more and more for all the pain she caused on my family. For what she cause my mother to do.

That was the moment, I remembered why my mother killed herself. Father had been cheating on him. She threatened to divorce him, but he held a knife to her throat. She know who it was. Less than a year had passed, mother couldn’t take being with someone who didn’t love her. That was when she begged me to kill her, and I had no choice but to do as I was told.

I see a window near a random corner. The moon is so bright and beautiful. Maybe staying here wouldn’t be as bad as my life was. I whisper to the moon as if it was my mother hiding in it, hoping she could hear me. I told her I was sorry for not being willing to pull the trigger. My tears start to flow like a waterfall everytime I think of it. I lay in the old cell bed and slowly drift to sleep with a smile on my frighteningly pale face.

Please have a happy afterlife mother, I beg of you.