the long way round {Esmeralda -- Standalone}

A fallen star,
Fell from your heart,
And landed in my eyes,
I screamed aloud,
As it tore through them,

Ten years later I’m finally finding myself taking those few steps to leave the orphanage –not forever of course, I’m still that hopelessly incapable of taking care of myself that I am unable to do just that, yet. Maybe one day I will, maybe one day I’ll find that courage that I have always lacked to set out on my own and live that life that was robbed from me. When I was seven both of my parents were killed in front of me. A man had broken into our little house, just a small thing, set at the edge of a large, expanse property where the nearest neighbour was over two kilometres away. My parents were farmers, you see. Just like most parents in district ten. It was, after all the farming district, a career that almost everyone picked up on. They didn’t own the property they loved on, the man that my father worked for owned it. He was a great man, a kind man and he favoured my father. I could hardly disagree with him, dad was a great man, he was sweet, kind and he had this gentle, kind of strict nature. When people meet him they could not hate him. He held that kind if aura that was just loveable, he hated to argue and no matter what happened he’d always try to find that perfect way to settle a situation. I loved him, Mama loved him.

Mama was a lot like farther, but more wild. She had these bursts of brilliance where she would grasp an idea with two hands and you could do or say nothing to stop her from doing it. She’d laugh when her ideas failed and she’d smile when they crumbled to bits. She didn’t care if they worked, or if they fail as long as she had fun playing around and mucking round. Both of them loved to read to me. They’d sit by my side, one hand each clasped into the book. Sometimes as a family we’d re-enact little scenes, pa would be a dragon, and he’d take me away, carrying me in his arms, whilst I screamed in more delight then anything else. He’d swing me around, lifting me above his head and pretend we were flying far, far away (I wish that ione day I’ll be able to find that place again, far, far away from all of this pain). Then Mama would swoop in like some shining knight, all dressed up with a wooden stick. Dad would swing me onto his shoulders and from there Mum and ad would pretend to fight, swinging at each other whilst I laughed and then they’d laugh and we’d tumble onto the floor, all of us laughing. Mum would grab me and start tickling me and telling me “I saved you” ”you’re safe” “I’ve got you”. And the whole time I’d laugh, so happy.

That often makes me smile. I’ll think back on those perfect days and I won’t be able to help myself, I’ll become lost in all those memories. I miss those times. I miss them, so, so much. I still read. I read fairy-tales every single day. I repeat over and over again the very stories that Mum and Dad had told me. I speak them out loud; I hold the book to my chest, close my eyes and imagine what is happening before me. But it never is the same and I know that it never will be the same. Seeing them will never happen and feeling them hold me, touch me and speak to me will never happen again. I lost them ten years again and there is no way I will ever find them. I lost them that fateful night. I ran away and left behind everything I knew and every little thing I loved and there is no way in hell I’ll ever find that peace and perfectness again. It died with them. And it ended, just like every fairy-tale and story I have ever read it all comes to an end. Nothing, not life, not joy, not happiness, none of it lasts forever. And I’m stupid, anyone is stupid to think that it will.

No one heard anyone scream, no one saw anything and I’m still as sure as I was ten years ago that nobody still knows what happened that night. Well, expect for me. Sometimes those memories become so scattered and tangled with the rest of the nightmares that plague me, I’m not sure if I’m recalling it right. I’ll slow down and try to remember everything that happened. I’ll try to remember their faces and what they looked like. I’ll see it all, and it will always look different. I force myself to remember that horror, because I’m scared that if I don’t I’ll forget them, I’ll forget it all and I’ll forget what I did. And those few things are part of me. I can’t forget any of them. Without them I’d have no purpose, hell the last ten years of my life would make no sense, what so ever. No I need them to survive, to keep myself going, to pick myself up and forge ahead. As long as I can remember their faces, their eyes and the blood I feel like I’m remembering a part of them. The part I let go of, the part of them I lost. Some part of me believes that maybe I’ll find it if I keep it in my head. I doubt it.

Lots of people search for the truth. Lots of people look and look and look, spending their entire little lives trying to find the answer to a dozen or so questions that have remained unanswered for all of eternity, and they remain that way. I’ve tried that, I’ve tried searching for the answers to the questions that pursue me day and night. But I’ve never found them and slowly I’m beginning to stop looking as hard as I once had. They aren’t coming to me, and no matter how much I concentrate or will them to appear in front of me, they won’t. It is the way of life and slowly I’m spiralling down that endless tunnel that everyone has been down, and that endless tunnel only ends when you want it to.

I spare a glance at the orphanage, my feet bare, as always, bringing the comfort of the real world with me. I would be coming back, I just felt like I was making some massive step. I hadn’t left this gate for ten years; I’d been wrapped in those fences, trees and rooms for more than half my life. Slowly, at first, I start walking then as I begin to distance myself from the orphanage my steps quicken, until I am almost jogging. The world around me seems to become a blur as I move, faster and faster, the kilometres eating away. The distance between the orphanage and y old home was far and it would be almost midnight by the time I got back. But I was determined, more determined than I had ever been. Slowly the world around me begins to darken and by the time I reach the fence that bars me from the house the sun has settled into its slumber. A few final streaks of red lay determinedly across the sky, unwilling to give up that fight against darkness, but the sun has disappeared behind the world and the inky darkness of the night has settled in. I spare a quick glance upwards a billion stars that have flickered into existence. I always find myself struck by the beauty of the night sky.

And suddenly I remember the millions of times I had walked out here propped up on my father’s shoulders. And we’d move to the large open space by the edge of our property and he’d stumble here and there and my shrieks of delight would fill the night air. Out here there is no light when it grows dark. It was why I have never been afraid of the darkness or the shadows that lurk in the gloomy blackness. I’ve always been raised to appreciate it and to see what it can do. I’ve fallen in love with the way it spills across the sky and with the way that it can hide you and how if you are skilled enough you can wrap it around you and remain invisible. In the orphanage a few lights stand at the boundaries. Those lights prevent the world from seeing what I see write now. The stars are blocked by the hard, harsh lights, and their beauty is often lost. Sometimes, when you are lucky enough you can go into the orchard and see them. In the orchard there are no lights, just the trees. When the trees are tall and in flower it is almost impossible to see past their thick branches and climbing the trees in pure darkness can be dangerous. Once a month or sometimes twice I’ll challenge myself by pulling myself up, and I’ll lay amongst the leaves and branches with the delicate sound of the night-time creatures singing me a song as I stare at the sky.

Other times I’ll sit on the ground, leaning against a tree and I’ll pretend to see what is really there, eyes turned upwards a lustful gaze fixed to my face. Watching is the hardest part of all, especially when there is nothing there to see, but I sit there anyway, hands pressed into my lap, the cold night air blowing wilfully through the trees, stinging my skin, arms and legs. Sometimes it is a task to imagine what is there before you, to build up an entire world based on that thing that you call an imagination, it is often easier when it is already in front of you and the paradise that roams around amongst the clouds is the greatest trick of my mind. It is something I will never reach, something I can only admire and hope to one day fly to. In my dreams I’m surrounded by my hopes, when I’m not drowning in my nightmares and the clouds sit around me, and the soft glow of the morning light pushes the darkness away, whilst I call for it to come to me, for it to wrap itself around my body and protect me.

You could call it instinct, but as the gate is pushed open I step forwards, my feet stepping on the ground as though they know where to go. I don’t need to look downwards at my dirty feet to assume where each step take me. Instead I can walk, the feel of the rough ground drawing me onwards. Slowly my heart begins to beat faster, and the echoing and loud sound of a it repeating itself over and over again fills my ears. A growing nervousness begins to gnaw at my stomach and I halt my rapid heart and my shaking limbs willing me to go no further. For a few seconds I’m left standing there, my feet glued to the ground beneath them, the cold seeping further and further up my limbs, like an icy claw digging into my back and pinning me down. Then slowly my features knot themselves into a determined frown, and my mouth is set into a tight, straight line. Very slowly I take another step forwards and then another and another. And then I’m moving once more and my heart is pounding and my breathing is rapid.

Then it is there in front of me. I squint, unsure at first that I was seeing what I was seeing in the poor light. But after a few more seconds the black shape of my old house comes into focus. It was abandoned, empty and a rather saw sight. I run forwards, my feet carrying me with a surprising amount of strength. Without hesitating I crash into the door and the old, rotted wood rips open as I hit it. I keep going and then the tears are forcing themselves upon me and I skid to a stop, the old, shattered remnants of my childhood before me. The house was exactly how we left it, as though no one had settled into it. For a moment I fumble around on the wall beside me, and then the light is switched on. It is a crappy little light, but it gives me enough light to see the broken ornaments, the shattered windows and broken house. Tears slip soundlessly down my cheeks and I move to the centre of the room. This had been the living room; this had been the room where my parents had died. Slowly I sink to the ground, my knees slipping onto the old carpet. The air was stale, and bitter, as bitter as my own heart at this moment. Then all at once I’m sharing and a sob tears through me.

I guess some part of me had hoped I would find them here, waiting. But they weren’t of course, the dead did not rise. They would always be dead and I was left with an empty house and dashing hopes. My heart felt as though it was going to break all over again. There is a hole where my heart is and it is grows bigger and bigger every moment. It hurts and I’m hurting so much that right now I’m gasping for air in between each sob that leaves my parted lips. Tears fall down and down and I can’t stop them. ”I’m so sorry, mama and Pa, I am so sorry.” I mumble the words barely audible. After a few more minutes of ragged breathing and sobs I finally take a deep breathe, forcing myself to calm down, forcing myself to get a grip on that insanely thin ledge of sanity. But I hold onto it. I look up and at my home and I just sit there. I close my eyes, slowing my breathing until it is in a steady rhythm and my heart has slowed back down to normal. This place had once been my home, these walls, this floor and this room had been a haven. My family had lived here and stayed here. They had died in this very spot. To my own surprise I felt less at home here then I did back at the orphanage. This place was filled with more pain then joy.

It was no longer my home.

I stand up, and gathering my scattered thoughts I slowly walk out. And I don’t look back.

And I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became,
The stars, the moon,
They have all been blown out,
You left me in the dark