Here's Your Holiday

The punk rock music emanating from my CD player was quite sedating. I fidgeted nervously afore my vanity, with various objects including my hot magenta nailpolish, to the various porcelain animals I had been attached to since childhood. I examined each item, faking intricate interest; but soon slamming each into the varnished wood in failure. My eye twitched annoyingly, and I rubbed it. Anything. I needed {i}anything{/i} to drown my attention from the gut-wrenching screams. For as long as my recollection stemmed, I never had knowledge of their hatred for one another; or why they insisted on enduring the torture of each other�s company for such time. I paced recklessly about my personal prison, wondering if this is exactly how a caged lioness felt directly before she escaped her captivity; tearing a bloody hole in the flesh of every human she encounters, desperate to reverse the mockery which had become her life. When urged to randomly bash my skull into the wall, thus devastating the bone until unknown fluid seeped deep into the plush carpeting-- I pondered if I was crazy. If this is what it�s like to be mentally deranged; it�s no wonder those pathetic souls are forced to sit in calm environments and sporting equally friendly coats with conveniently oversized sleeves. The truth was, I had no where to go. I suffered from constant, unadulterated cabin fever. I wasn�t a rebel. I didn�t fail school. I didn�t live in an unsafe neighborhood. I wasn�t grounded. In a sense, I was free. But the screaming... God, it never ended... and I just couldn�t ask them to stop... I couldn�t bring myself to bother them at all... It�s hell to be afraid of one�s parents.

Shivering profusely in the eighty degree weather, I sat on the edge of my bed and eyed my CD player. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sweet sounds of my favorite punk band. I sighed and envisioned each stimulating note to pierce my body; creating a bubble of protection around me. This music was my aura. Whoever disagrees that music isn�t religion, is terribly mistaken. Relaxing a little, I laid on my soft sheets and sung softly to the melody:

...On and on, reckless abandon. Something�s wrong, this is gonna shock them. Nothing to, hold on to. We use this song, to lead you on. And break the truth, with more bad news. He left a scar size extra large...

...And the screaming continued...

�YOU�RE WORTHLESS! JUST LIKE YOUR SCUMBAG OF A FATHER!�

My eyes shot open.

�WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?�

I gritted my teeth.

...On and on...

�WHO AM I? I�M YOUR KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR BABE!�

I straightened up, hugged myself, and rocked back and forth.

...Nothing to, hold on to...

�OH REALLY-- I�M IMPRESSED THAT YOU�VE STAYED TRUE TO YOUR VOWS!�

I began to hyperventilate.

...Something�s wrong, this is gonna shock them...

�I HATE YOU!�

...to lead you on...

�FEELINGS MUTUAL!�

I stood. I paced. I�d been trapped there forever. I had to escape. Quick.

�WHY DON�T YOU EXPLAIN THIS TO YOUR DAUGHTER?�

I halted directly in front of my vanity. I gazed at my frazzled reflection. My puffy eyes and flushed complexion didn�t accent my features so positively. I sobbed.

�EXPLAIN WHAT?! THAT HER PARENTS LOATH ONE ANOTHER?! I THINK THAT FACTOR HAS BEEN MADE FAIRLY OBVIOUS, DON�T YOU?!�

...And break the truth...

�DON�T PATRONIZE ME YOU BASTARD!�

I clenched my fist so tightly that my knuckles reflected white--

�SCREW YOU!�

...with more bad news...

--and pummeled it into the gleaming mirror. I released a cry of agony as a shockwave of pain riveted through my bones. Through tear muddled eyes I examined my jagged, bloody fist.

�WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!�

I bit my lip and retrieved a decent shard of glass.

�HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW? I�M NOT FREAKING PSYCHIC!�

...He left a scar size extra large...

Hesitating for an odd moment, then seizing my courage, I plunged the shard of glass into my vulnerable wrist.

I awoke the next morning with an anvil atop my head. I uncurled from my usual fetal position and dismissed the fragments of the most recent suicide dream into the dank seclusion of my subconscious. I casually threw on a pair of jeans and a scrubby T-shirt. As I descended the stairs, I prayed that my father had already left for the office. Although I love my father very much, I didn�t have the strength to deal with a breakfast of bickering with insults on the side. Certainly, such early morning arguments did not meet the qualifications for the �breakfast of champions� campaign. To my delight, he had already left.

I creeped into the kitchen, in order not to bother my mother, who was stooped over the morning paper. I snuck a bowl of cereal while she quietly snipped away at various coupons, whilst reading the headlines at the same time.

�Morning Mom,� I said.

She gave no reply. Assuming she hadn�t heard me because of being so enthralled with the paper, I cleared my throat and repeated my greeting. Again, there was no response. I swallowed my current mouthful of cereal and set the bowl down on the shimmering counter. Alarmed, I trotted towards her with my arms extended.

�Mom!---wha...WHAT?!� I gasped as my hands passed through her body. I stood dumbfounded for a measly second or two. Truly, it was something only to be read in horror novels or seen on breathtaking Hollywood blockbusters. But...it happened to me. Upon closer inspection of her coupon clipping job, I found that she was not clipping coupons, but obituaries. My obituary. Struck to the core by the facial expression of pure sorrow plastered on her face, I bolted upstairs. My feet seemed as confused as I was, and I periodically tripped over them. I entered my parents room and threw open the chest of drawers. I searched in a frenzy, but all of my father�s clothes were missing. Still unable to grasp the grave reality of the situation, I hurried back to my room.

Apparently, my earlier sleepiness had dampened my observation skills; for I had failed to notice my vanity. The mirror had been shattered, and the broken pieces of pearly glass lay still all around. Globs of dried blood still remained on the wood and surrounding carpet. They hadn�t changed it since... since I killed myself. It must have been too painful. I was so preoccupied with my own suffering, I had taken for granted the fact that they loved me.

I floated to my bed and returned to my comforting fetal position. I reached over to my CD player and pressed play. I had taken for granted the fact that they loved me.

...It�s hard to wake up, when the shades have been pulled shut. This house is haunted, it�s so pathetic, it makes no sense at all. I�m ripe with things to say. The words rot and fall away. What stupid poem, could fix this home, I�d read it everyday...

I thought of the great folly of my ways, and of so many others. And I realized the punishment for my sin. This was it.

...Their anger hurts my ears. Been running strong for seven years. Rather than fix the problem, they never solve them, it makes no sense at all. I see them everyday. We get along, so why can�t they? If this is what he wants, and it�s what she wants, then why is there so much pain...

I cried. I cried for eternity. I�m still crying.

...So here�s your holiday. Hope you enjoy this time. You gave it all away. It was mine. So when you�re dead and gone, will you remember this night? Twenty years now lost. It�s not right...

Nevertheless, the punk rock music emanating from my CD player was ever so sedating.