Escape

He awoke lying in a hospital bed, confused and soar. His vision was blurred, but he could make out the sound of his father’s voice talking to the nurse and creating lies about how he found his son passed out on the floor. Suddenly everything that had happened that night came floating back to him.1

He’d been running from his father, trying for the first time in sixteen years to escape. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d been caught, but the next thing he knew he was lying on the cold ground and his father was beating him with his fists and whipping him with a metal chain.2

His ribs were splintered and his arm was being twisted behind his back. He struggled, trying to break free but his father twisted harder and he cried out in pain as he felt the bone in his arm break. His father shoved him to the ground in disgust and tore off his son’s shirt. Holding tightly to the studded leather belt in his hand he struck it across his son’s back again and again.3

He cradled his now broken arm, biting his bottom lip so hard that he tasted blood, waiting for the beating to just end. But he was beaten continuously until finally he was able to escape the pain and drift off into unconsciousness.4

The next time he woke up he found himself hanging upside down from something in a dark room and was being beaten by his father’s fists. His right eye was swollen shut and his arm hung useless by his side, hurting unbearably. The ropes binding his ankles cut into his flesh. Eventually he managed to slip painfully back into unconsciousness.5

He moaned, trying to protest his father’s lies and explain what had really happened but pain shot up inside of him and he coughed up blood. For a split second he thought he was going to choke on his own blood but he spit it out. His father rushed over in pretend worry, the nurse following. His father bent down next to his ear and whispered “Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you”, then he began repeating soothing words to put on the impression he cared about his son. The nurse gave him two pills and he soon fell into a troubled sleep.6

He had a horrible nightmare that night where he acted just like his father and was beating his girlfriend harder and harder. A deep anger burned inside of him as he listened to her pleas for mercy, begging him to stop. This just made him angrier, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He loved her so much. She was the only reason he hadn’t committed suicide, but he kept beating her, thinking of how unfair it was that her life was great and yet his life was like a living hell.7

He woke up to the sound of someone screaming only to realize that he had been the one screaming. He found himself wondering suddenly if this was how his father felt every day. He began to worry about his twin brother, who was now at home with their drunken father and uncaring mother. He lay in bed for hours afterwards, waiting for the pain to stop.8

She lay in bed that night, listening to the horrible sounds of her husband beating her son. She wanted to shout at him to stop; to leave him alone. What had he ever done? But she knew that by arguing she’d make things worse for her husband and son because she would stress out her husband more and he’d think of more things to yell at her son about. She was a pathetic excuse for a mother and she knew it. She hated herself for letting things get so bad for her family. Maybe if she’d been a better wife and mother things would be different. Better. She hated looking at the horrid scars covering her son’s arms and across his wrist. She didn’t know what to do, though. It was his way for him to let loose his hurt and anger. What could she do? She wished her husband wasn’t always so stressed. If he was happier, if she could be a better wife, maybe she could make things better for him so things would also be better for her boys.9

She covers the pillow over her face, trying to block out the sounds. She thinks about what a terrible failure she’s been to everyone.10

When he was finally sent back home, his father beat him again, despite the fact that his ribs were splintered and his arm was broken. His brother had also been beaten while he was in the hospital, but fortunately it wasn’t as bad as it could be. His brother doesn’t deserve this pain.11

His father was always telling him he deserved every beating he ever got and that he should be glad he isn’t out on the streets. Well, I would be out on the streets if my father hadn’t put me in the damn hospital! He thinks, furiously. He believes what his father says about him deserving it, but when his friends ask why he just shrugs saying “I just do”.12

Later that night his father came into his room and whipped his bare chest and back with the studded leather belt he hated so much, yelling at his son. “Do you know how many lies I had to make when those damn doctor’s asked about those fucking scars on your arms?” He was hipped over and over again, forced to hear his father’s hateful, cruel words of how he deserved it all and so much more, and that everything that happened in this house was all his fault. The hate filled words of anger burned inside his mind.13

He spent the rest of the night lying on his bed, hurt and soar, trying to erase the terrible images that continued to reappear in his mind over again.14

The next day after school, he opens the door and walks into the living room. Almost instantly the smell of beer hits him strongly. He doesn’t see his father anywhere and wonders where he is. He’s learned that when his father is drunk it’s best to know where he is.15

Suddenly someone grabs him from behind and shoves him to the ground. He hears the unpleasant yet familiar voice of his father yelling at him. His father beats him harder and harder, never stopping or even giving him a chance to fight back. Finally, after hours of pain he escapes once again into unconsciousness.16

When he wakes up his body is searing with pain. His father ties a rope around his neck. He tries to struggle but he can hardly breath and is having trouble just gasping for more air to fill his lungs. The next thing he knows he is being hung from the living room ceiling and his father is striking him with a chain covered with his son’s blood.17

He hangs in the air by the rope choking him while he is helpless to do anything, feeling the life slip slowly away from him, becoming weaker every second, pain filling him. He just wants it all to end so he’ll never have to feel this pain and anger and hatred again. So nothing will be his fault anymore, but he is forced to wait a few moments longer before death will accept him.18

On his last struggle for breath he closes his eyes and thinks “Finally”. His father stops hitting the lifeless body of his now dead son and is out cold on the couch.19

Only a few minutes after, his twin brother comes into the living room after meeting his girlfriend and the smell of beer hits him just as strongly as it had his brother. Then he sees his brother’s dead body, still hanging from the rope, blood covering him.20

He grabs the knife from his pocket and cuts the rope off of his brother’s throat. He cradles the dead body, trying to hold back the tears he’d kept hidden for sixteen years. He blames himself for his brother’s death. I should’ve been here, he thinks. If I had been things wouldn’t have ended so miserably. “You didn’t deserve this,” he says to his brother.21

He takes the knife and walks over to his father, tears of hatred and a deep rage sliding down his pale cheeks. His father opens his eyes and a look of fear flashes across his face. He listens deafly to the stuttering apologies and pleads for mercy, raising the knife, and bringing it down deep inside his father’s chest.22

Still holding the knife, a great feeling of relief washes over him. He stares at his bloody, trembling hands, walking outside and into the stormy night, feeling no remorse over his father’s death. Rain dripped down his face, disguising the silent tears of joy and relief. He knew he would soon be punished for the murder he had commit, but for now he pushed those thoughts away and just stood on the rain, washing away his father’s blood from his skin.23

Holding the knife that had created his happiness, and yet also brought pain, he brought it to his wrist and following the vein he cut down deep and watched the crimson blood flow out of him. There was pain of course, but somehow this just made him happier, knowing that this would be the last pain he would ever feel again.24

Lying in the grass, soaked in rain, blood being washed away only for more to come. Suddenly his girlfriend was by his side, her tears falling onto the grass next to him. “Why did you do this?” She demanded, hurt. “I care about you. How could you just kill yourself?” She felt betrayed. She thought he cared about her as well.25

He held her hand tightly and squeezed. “I care about you too. But I don’t want to live anymore. I can’t bare it any longer. I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said. The color drained from his face and she cradled him in her arms. He knew he hurt her, but he wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. He would finally be able to escape the pain he’d held inside for years.26

He realized then that despite all the pain he’d endured, the worry for his brother, he’d still managed to enjoy life every once in a while, like when he was spending time talking to his girlfriend or friends. He now regretted what he’d just done, but the life soon left him and he lay in his girlfriend’s arms, dead.27

She gently took the knife from his cold, lifeless fingers, bringing it to her wrist. She pressed down hard, following the vein as he had done. She lay next to his body, blood forming around her. She felt the same relief and happiness he had. And also the same regret.28

The last thing he’d felt after the regret was the same relief and joy. He was finally able to escape from the miserable life he had never chosen to live.29