Story For The Abandoned

The burning inferno scarce of gentle warmth was evident in the eyes that stared back at me. The woeful tears that has escaped her tenebrous eyes brought me to my knees in distraught. A raven-haired girl with ragged clothes was standing in the mirror. Her plushy cheeks were damped of tears that seemed to overflow of sadness. She looked no older than four years old, yet she was crying as if she had experienced death itself. As I stared at my own reflection, I realized that I was the girl that stood in front of the mirror. I was the girl that cried of irrepressible melancholy. I was the helpless-looking girl.

“Stop, please! No more.” I cried out. I was scared, knowing the horrors they could do to me. I was the runt of the litter—so they treated me like an outsider. My supposedly mother was laughing in another room with a man, possibly fucking each other, while I endured my uncle. He came home drunk with a girl hanging around his arms. I knew the sight of me would turn his mood sour, so I tried to sneak out. I jumped out of fright as I heard his booming voice echo from wall to wall. My feet went to its own accord and speeded through the long hallway that connected the living room to the kitchen. I felt a sudden sting on my right arm as it was abruptly snatched. I heard a deafening scream escape from my mouth as he dragged me back to the living room.

“Did you really just fucking run away from me?” His face turned crimson red as he kept on shouting profanities. I was focused on trashing myself out of his grasp that I didn’t notice my mother coming out of the room she was in.

“You shut your mouth or I’ll shut them for you. Don’t embarrass me with my guest” She glared at my direction. How can she not see that I was being assaulted—harassed?

“Mommy, please help me. Mommy, Please!” I begged her—desperation clung to each word I spat. I was mid-way reaching for her shirt as I felt a burning sensation on my left cheek. I held my face with utter disbelief. Did mommy just slap me? This was the question that kept repeating in my head.

“I told you to be quiet!” She hissed at me. I stood frozen in my spot as I realized that no one will come save me. I would’ve died if I stayed any longer. I must have been crazy for thinking something so foolish—to run away, but I didn’t care anymore. I was four years old, and yet I was ready to give up on life. I was four years old yet my head was filled with suicidal thoughts. I was four years old and I was ready to welcome death in my arms.

I bolted out of the house and straight into the streets. It was pitch black and the street lamps were blurry in my vision. I ran and ran… and ran—but it felt as if I was unmoving. The sudden blaring horn of a car brought me back to reality. The screeching tires of the car in front of me was ear-splitting, as it tried to stop itself from hitting me. I didn’t know what came over me but I latched on the hood of the car and begged the woman inside to save me.

“Take me! Please. I can’t—please. Help me!” I forced the middle-aged woman in the car to feel the sorrow I had in my luggage. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening that, to my surprise, she smiled in incredulity. Arms were suddenly on my waist as I struggled to reach for the woman in the car. Why? Why wasn’t anyone helping me?

For the past week, they’ve been quiet. I expected them to torture me after I embarrassed them in front of a stranger, but oddly enough they were passive. They didn’t touch me nor talk to me—they acted as if I didn’t exist. They didn’t feed me as I had to scavenge food for myself. I was too young so I didn’t know how to cook—or reach the stove—so I ate their leftovers or anything I could find inside the refrigerator.

In a Saturday morning, I was awaken by a shove. I reluctantly got up out bed and brushed my teeth. That was the first time that someone interacted with me in the household, and I was petrified.

“We’re heading out. We’re going to meet people, you understand me?” I nodded my head eagerly as to avoid angering my mother. “Don’t say anything and let me do all the talking, you listening?” I squeaked a ‘yes’ as we jumped inside the car. I was scared to move a muscle as I might make a sound. We stopped in front of a tremendous house. It had viridescent gates that astonished me to gawked at it.

“Acacia, it’s a pretty house isn’t it? Do… you want to live here?” My mother suddenly asked. We’re going to live in this huge house? I nodded my head fervently. I was too entranced with the humungous house that I didn’t noticed my mother sighing and opening the car door. We headed inside the glamour of a home and my eyes roamed every corner.

After going passed by the emerald gates, we were greeted by a palatial garden. On both sides of the path walk, different flowers were blooming and dancing—my breath was taken away from me. As we reached the doorway—I couldn’t hide my amazement any longer—I gasp at how beautiful the carvings on the wooden door was. My mother knocked on the ligneous door and a maid opened it for us. As we continue to go deeper inside the majestic home, we were met by a couple. The man looked around his mid-forty with gray hairs sprouting from his roots. The intimidating frown on his face made me take a step back away from him. As we made eye contact his face contorted into a smile that didn’t match his menacing aura. My eyes wandered to the woman beside him, and my eyes widened as I recognized her. Her hair were in ringlets that flopped on top of her head. Her eyes held warmth that was lost in mine, and her smile was so soft that I adored it. She was the woman that I had begged to save me. It was the woman in the car that fateful night.

“Hello. What’s your name, little one” The intimidating man asked me. I looked at my mother for permission to speak. I remembered her warning me not to say anything before we came here.

“She’s a little shy.” My mother apologetically said in my place. “Tell them what’s your name, baby” She forced a smile on her face whilst talking to me.

“I’m Acacia Alissandra Rodriguez.” The couple smiled as they didn’t expect for me to say my full name. The woman stepped forward and reached for my hands. I flinched for the slightest second but caved in at her touch.

“Hi. My name is Sasha and this is my husband, Nathan.” She gently told me with a seraphic smile. “What would you like to call me?” She pretended to think before continuing on. “How about Tita?” I was about to give a nod of approval when I realized that I didn’t know what to call the man. What was the male name for Tita? I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of the nice lady so I shook my head politely.

“Well, would you like to call me Mommy?” I know what the male name of mommy is, and that’s daddy—so I agreed with enthusiasm. I hadn’t known then that my mother was selling me to this couple. I didn’t know even when the stack of money was shown. I kept on waiting for my mother to come back for days, and then I knew. She was never going to come back.

Night after night, tears would soak the bed sheets as I cried in silence. I wanted to know why my mother left me. Though there was only pain and agony with her, she was still my mother. For days I continued to cry until I was finally heard. Sasha rushed to my aid and asked what was wrong.

“Where’s m-ommy?” I stuttered out. The couple looked at each other before they fed me with lies.

“I’m right beside you, Acacia” She whispered in the dark room. I remember the things they’ve written through their eyes—as if telling me opposites to what their lips mouthed. I was tired of being made out of a fool of—deception has been my shadow for so long that I grew tired of it.

“Don’t lie to me, please. I don’t want to hate you” I begged them. And the truth slowly unravel. They told me I was abandoned by my own flesh and blood. How do you bear with the information of being unwanted and unloved?

I felt alone and abandoned. I was filled with darkness to which to an extent, I spat vicious and vile words to anyone who advanced with the bearings of nothing but peace. I was given so much pain—too much pain—that I was grazed too deep to be fixed.

The impending bleakness of my solitude was inevitable—I was a falling star, pushed away from the opulence of the galaxy. This story is an eternal woe, that every page seems heavier to turn—and words appear to be floating in the air of dismay. This is the kind of story that you just want to end and forget. And that was what I felt about my life. A story that needs to be ended and to be forgotten.

So then, I died—and I survived.

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