The Last Incident

“You need to learn some respect!” he bellowed as he turned out the doorway, out of my domain, my bedroom.

“I’m not the one who’s yelling,” I muttered.

At that, he turned back to me, and pounced. His hands went straight for my neck, immediately grasping at the conduit of which all of my life depended on. Tightening his grip, shaking his hands, of which were strong and firm, calloused by decades of hard labor and toil, he stared into my eyes. I only stared back. I offered no resistance, did not fight back. There were several reasons for this. Firstly, he was over twice my weight, and any resistance of mine would be futile. Secondly, I did not want to humor his barbaric practices. Lastly, I wanted him to hopefully realize that he is in the wrong.

As I stared into his eyes, seething with hatred and anger, I revealed no emotion from my own. I stared, without blinking, struggling for breath. He still did not relent.

I gasped for air.

His grip tightened.

Blackness surrounded my vision.

He struck me.

I could breathe better.

He got off of me, and grabbed me by the base of my ears, and yanked me forward. My forearm hit the floor. My head followed. Now I resisted. He continued his tirade with yelling.

“You think you’re a big man?! Huh?! Let’s go outside, and fight me like one!”

I said nothing, but instead I pulled my head back, trying to escape. I pulled and pulled, yanked my head side to side, down on all fours, and so I felt like a dog.

Would he think better of me if I were? Either if he would or would not, I cannot help but feel ridiculous. Thankfully, after a few moments, he let go, if only to continue his rampant verbal assault. 

It seemed as if it would never end. It was already late, approaching midnight, and I had to get up early tomorrow for school, and in school I had to carry myself as if nothing had ever happened, and if I did not, then everyone would know, and if everyone knew, my father would be in trouble, and if he got into trouble for this, then he would be taken away, and if he was taken away, then my family would have no source of income and my mother would most likely be taken away as well for knowing about this but not doing anything, and then my siblings and I would go into foster care or adoption and we would all get separated, or I could get emancipated, because I was almost seventeen, and I would have to take care of our dog, my two brothers, and my sister, which means that I would have to drop out of high school, not go to college, work full-time at minimum wage, and my family would be much worse off.

So I have to suffer through this. For my family, I must endure.