don't make promises | dorothy&callie
Jan 29, 2023 13:02:53 GMT -5
Post by d7m fraser birk ♚ frankel on Jan 29, 2023 13:02:53 GMT -5
DOROTHY HOPE
A pair of perfectly comfy chairs remains empty as I opt for the wide windowsill, peering through the barred glass to the now empty town square below. Dad once threatened to bar my window after my seventh slip out during the night. Except the man was too damn lazy to actually hammer the wooden posts he had bought three weeks after the threat into my window. They are still piled up in the kitchen, just like all the other projects and broken furniture he promised to fix.
I take promises in my family like a pinch of salt. I can already imagine the conversation I am about to have with my mom. She will apologize for the past 16 years of my existence. Then promise to change. Then promise to speak to dad. Then promise that dad will promise to change. Nope. I already cannot believe what she will say. They are both damn liars and the only promise that will be made today is the one I will give to Oz. He is the only one who deserves one. The only one who will not break one.
The door swings open, and I do not immediately tear my eyes from the window, waiting for the door to shut behind whoever it is before I do. It is just mom. Good, I hope Oz comes alone. I hope dad has gone to dig my grave; it will take him a few months to get round to doing it anyway. ”Just don’t ask me why. If you have to ask me why, then you are better off just getting out of here.” I say as my head still resting against the cold metal bars.
