Moldy roses

I can't take this anymore1

I quickly shut the door behind me. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer inside of my chest, threatening to break out. I can hear my nephews cries in the room behind me, and it makes me sick. His father, my brother in law is drunk again and something wasn't perfect. Just part of living with my older sister and her crazy drunk of a husband I suppose.
Tears flood my eyes and rush down my face, as I replay the previous scene in my mind, the sweet blond haired boy, no older then six, with dark circles around his eyes comes rushing into the house. He's sobbing, trying to seek comfort from his mother, my sister, due to a small bump on the head. I'm washing the dishes, hot soapy water up to my elbows. I hear the door creak open and those heavy footsteps. The boy is still crying and I feel a panic rat start gnawing inside my head.
I can  feel him moving behind me, and the smell of him curdles my stomach, the scent of the alcohol seeping through his pores. He thunders over to the boy, and a loud thud when the child hits the floor. His cries fill into a frantic wail, his father kicking him over and over towards his bedroom. The boys mother simply stares, not saying a word for a moment before returning to cooking dinner.
There is a knife in the sink, and I think that I could use it, and end the misery for my nephew. I could stick it into his fathers stomach and spill his guts. I imagined the hot feel of the blade ripping through. A shudder rushed through me. But of course I wasn't brave enough to do it.2

Just fucking do it....3

Instead I pocket the knife, the guilt eating me from the inside. Why can't I just stop him? There has to be something that I can do.
I hurry with the dishes, wanting to return to my room, which has become a refuge, and prison for me all at once. The walls are stained by mildew and what clothes my younger sister and I do possess are dirty, and I'm sure molding like everything else. The walls are dirty and bare all except some roses I had hung on the wall to dry. I cold see small specks of mold dotting the dark red petals. Molding roses. 4

So this is where I stand in the world, left to wither away like these roses, and god, I'm going to start molding to if I don't get out of here soon.5

I climb up to the top of the bunk beds I share with my little sister, who thankfully is at track practice.I slip the knife out of my pocket and see my tear stained face reflected back at me on the cold steel.
I run the blade slowly over my forearm, staring in wounder at the strawberry gash it leaves trailing behind it. My mind runs, memories spilling over....6

I'm sitting in one of the rocking chairs, my nephew only four months old, sleeping curled up in my arms.It seems I take care of him more then his mother does, due to her lack of time. She is sitting quietly crocheting, hardly paying attention to the scene in front of us.
My younger sister is crying, and our brother in law is standing there with a paddle in his hands. You know the kind they used to use in schools? She's pleading with him, her eyes filled with a kind of fear that makes me sick.
"Turn around and bend over." His voice is cold and unforgiving, like you would imagine an angry god talking down to a sinner.
"Please no, please no,....." she whispered.
"Just fucking do it, or I have to just hit wherever I can reach." His eyes burned,as if enjoying his sense of power.
She bent over.
I could hear the paddle slice through the air.
Her sobs carried on late into the night, her whimpers reaching my ears even after she fell asleep. She showed me the next day, pulling her pants down just a bit so I could see her backside. It was so black. I could have died right there for her.
Guilt. Another moment in time where I hadn't stopped him.7

You where holding the baby.....8

Fuck that. that's not a reasonable excuse. I could have put him down.
I feel myself come back into reality, and there are more gashes running all over my arms now. I can see blood oozing from them, splatter my jeans and the faded sheets.9

oh, god, oh god, what is he gonna say when he finds out it's all over....10

Quiet sobs rack my body, as I stare down at those crimson droplets. I flip my arm and stare down at the tiny blue vain's that show lightly through my pale skin. I lightly run the knife over them. A new mouth of skin opens, and a few more drops of blood seep out. 11

You could say you spilled nail polish, and maybe you can find a way to get it cleaned up before anyone knows...12

Fuck it. I can't help anyone by staying here like this. Maybe if I just do it someone will realize how very wrong it is here. They will come in to get my body and see everything is covered in mold. Hopefully someone will save my roses. The only thing in this god awful room that I care to save. Even if they are molding. They remind me of myself.13

I cut deeper, diagonally, the way it's supposed to be done. I don't want to mess this up. It would be awful to face him if I live through this. It's better just to die.14

Wow there is so much blood, more then I thought my body could ever hold.......15

I close my eyes and another image of memory flashes through my mind. My other nephew, with rich brown hair and dark blue eyes much like my own, brightens hopefully as he runs up to his father.16

"Hi daddy!" he chirps sweetly, his eyes filled with that unconditional love of a young child.17

"Fuck off."18

I could see the the little boy flinch as if he had been slapped. His eyes welled with tears and he runs to me, throwing himself into my arms. He hadn't done anything wrong and didn't understand why his father seemed to hate him.19

Well, his father can just fuck off.....20

I open my eyes again, more tears leaking out of them. I quickly repeat the slicing of my other wrist.I stare at my roses again. They aren't ugly even in their withered state. Only the mold is ugly.21

I feel everything grow heavy, and I feel warm and damp. I know it's from the blood gushing all over, but it doesn't bother me. It's the feeling reminds me of a sunny day at the beach, like I used to have with my mother and father so long ago, before I ended up here. 22

The coppery smell isn't blood silly, it's just the penny's you spilled out of your pocket on the hot sand , remember? The salty taste on your lips is only the salt from the sea.23

I feel like I'm floating now, and I can't see quite right. I feel fear stir for a moment but then I calm myself.24

It's only the waves from the ocean your feeling. You love the ocean. The only reason your having trouble seeing is because the lights in you eyes....25

It's getting darker now, but I'm not worried. I've finally found a way to help those who I love. Questions are going to be asked when people who have authority see the moldy roses withered, left and unloved.....