MoonChild

Exiled

It's not normal; on the run non-stop, constantly afraid of where you are going and if someone is a step behind you or worse, 2 steps ahead of you. However, it's become my norm. I don't remember much from my birth home. I remember rarely eating, and my parents fighting a lot. Other then that, it seemed like the world was a blur. The day my mom pulled me into a car, this guy driving us off as I stared at my teary-eyed, screaming dad from the back window, I couldn't help but pity my father. I knew what had happened between them; what my mother had done. I wish to god now that she didn't.

My parents had other children with their new lovers and I was left in a weird hole; stuck being the only thing that connected them together, though they both wanted to forget. As weird as it was, my father didn't hate me. He always tried to get in contact with me, and did his best to make sure my little sister and I kept in touch. However, it wasn't the same in my actual household. My mother was done with me by the time she gave birth to the child that would keep the wealthy man by her side, and that day I became a burden and not her daughter. 

The night of the birth, I was left home alone with one of the housekeepers.  I watched them as they moved all of my clothes and bed out of my room and down to the basement, and the baby things into there in its stead. I wish I was one of those loud and bratty kids; yelling in a tantrum about how it's my room and I didn't need a sibling.  However, I was numb to the whole thing.  I just took what I could, and kept my quiet in my basement prison. I was given leftovers in my room, I wasn't allowed upstairs at all. I only saw my new sibling once and that was the day was my last day in that house

I was 10 years old. My caretaker had left the door unlocked to rush to an emergency upstairs. I had overheard earlier that day Daniel, my toddler brother was in a dangerous fever. It was the first time I felt anything about the sibling.  It's not that I hated him before, but I didn't favor him either. I sneaked my way up to where I remembered my room was and peeked through the doorway. My stepfather's hands clenching is greasy gelled strands of both black and grey. Mother was on the other side of the playpen, biting her nails. As they began a full-blown argument on why the toddler is so sick in the first place, I crept in to see my baby brother for the first time. I smiled for the first time in a long time. "Hey there spoiled brat" I chuckled at him before frowning as his attention came to me, his eyes soft and teary. I put my hand on him as he let out a tough breath of air.  "You're going to be ok," I said before letting out a deep sigh. The child expression lightened, wiping his own tears as he soon began to smile.

For the first time in a long time, or even for the first time in general, I felt connected to him. I felt that he was ok and he was going to be the one person in that house that wouldn't care where I was from or how I got here but would love me unconditionally.  That was torn from me as my stepfather tore me away from his child, screaming and yelling at me. I looked over at my mother and saw no sympathy in her eyes, only disgust and hatred. The man took me by my hair and dragged me down the stairs as I clawed at his arm to get free, but I couldn't. The next thing I could remember was being tossed down the basement stairs; everything going black as I hit the ground.

Maybe I was wrong; I remember everything. Maybe I was wrong, its all my fault. It could only be my fault.