“It was dark. I couldn’t see clearly, but why were you holding that light?”
They called me brave, fearless. I wasn’t afraid of anybody, I supposed. Maybe I perceived darkness. Life itself is unfair. I didn’t fear death. I was breathing, but I didn’t know why I was still living. I was like this, since I learned remembering things.
I could wake up at midnight, or at dawn depending on when my mother would cry, and when my father would break things in the house and beat my mother into a pulp. He wasn’t even drunk. I didn’t know what his problem was. I see my older brothers crying, begging my father to stop. He just wouldn’t listen. No one could stop him. I was young then when I realized, there’s no such thing as ‘love’; none even in a unit called “family.”
I was attending school, only to get out of the hell I was living. I wasn’t paying attention to the class. I had no interest in studying. I was just a bully. I solve everything with my fists and kicks. I talk through glaring eyes. I was ahead of everyone. I looked them down. My cold-blooded self. My heart incarcerated with anger and abhorrence. I had a company. I had my minions. Yet, I knew, I was really alone.
I was supposed to be the top in the world I was in, but I had no power against a teacher. Damn! I hated teachers. I just couldn’t say ‘no’ to them.
I was assigned to sit in front, right next to the guy who was labeled as the “top” student. The thing about that nerd was that he was really nice to everybody. Sitting next to him was like angel and devil in one frame.
I was silent...