Back to home Ch 1

here it’s my first chapter of a story to be! Any feedback appreciated :slight_smile: p.s. I posted this on reddit too
Hello there, my name is Tim.
I’m here to share my story. If you ask me why I’m doing this, well, the reality is that I don’t know. I’ve been running so long in my life, never catching breath. Running from pain, from love, from myself. But now I can rest, and I’m writing this. So take a seat, have a drink and relax, and let me tell you the story of how I finally came back home.
Milestones. Everyone has milestones. Memories stuck deep into their heads. Some achievement back in the school, or maybe their first kiss. Moments in which life takes a new pattern, and everything changes. They can be happy memories, or sad, or whatever they are. You also have them. And they are there. Like buoys in the ocean. Always floating, always there. And when the ocean starts storming, and you feel more and more lost, suddenly you cling to it, and you feel safe. Because everything is moving, but the buoy is there. Your memory stays there. It doesn’t move. It’s so weird to say it, because in my own language memory is a feminine word. And suddenly, when you feel like drowning, this beautiful motherly memory comes to you, and you feel your inside melting with warmness, and you can see hope.
I had not. No memories. No milestones. I had this epiphany once, around 13 or 14 years old. I just realized that I grew up invisible. To others, to my family, to myself. Like I have never had anything that important to leave a trace, a sniff of it into my head. I just lived. Day after day after day. Everyday had its meaning, its futile pursuits, so why bothering to remember something that happened, well, not that day? I know it sounds weird, it is. Maybe I’m also a little weird. Sure enough, at 13 I thought I was weird. No sweet memories, no passions, no hobbies beside reading. And I didn’t like reading that much, also. But it brought me somewhere else, and I hopped on that train whenever was possible. I was a lonely, grey 13 years old boy. The shade of myself, a lost soul, a grain of sand in the infinity of the world.
So, as you can read,I had no real memories. No dreams. No emotions. I grew up detached from… everything. You know, it wasn’t just that I was out of tune, I wasn’t that much! The fact is that I grew up in a very hostile environment. My mother was an alcoholic, she has always been. She was, how to say it, cold? She just didn’t care about me; she ignored me, always a bottle in her hand, lost somewhere in her drunken mind. She never touched me to express her love, never a caress, a hug, a kiss. She was there, but she actually wasn’t. I was the younger of three brothers. They were quite older than me, where older means bigger. Where bigger means meaner. I was basically their prey. It was daily business, running from them and taking beatings, one after another, everyone toughening my armor a little bit more. I read somewhere that beside fight or fly, there is a third way to fight something that scares us, that is freezing.
And here I was, a little boy taking beatings on beatings, frozen in a constant freezing state. And that state soon became my whole being. I was a tough kid, never complained, never cried, never reacted beside those first times, in which I thought I still had a chance. If you asked my how my life was, probably I would have told you: fine! Caused it seemed fine to me. It seemed normal. Looking my self in the mirror I looked normal. Like, yeah sometimes my brothers are mean to me, but it could go worse, couldn’t it? But I didn’t really mean it. I probably meant nothing, if you know what I mean. I was trapped inside something permeating my whole being, and I was inside it, and I didn’t know it. I was in this limbo, where everything was ok, and looked just the same.
Anyway yeah, I’m digressing, I always do. Eventually I grow up, dragged here and there from the events of life. Always smiling, always talking. Smart kid, a little mischievous sometimes, but the kind of kid everyone liked. But then something happened. My mother found a boyfriend. You know, she attracted junk as flowers do with bees. No, wait, too poetic. As shit does with flyes. Better!
You know, I was kinda used to my mother’s boyfriends. Often they only lasted very little time. Two or three times each. This time was different. This guy basically moved into my house. He was rotten, a rabid dog.
No big deal for a strange kiddo like me. When he beat me up, I just stood up and laughed at him, every time. And you know, that made him even angrier, and he usually just started beating me up again and again. And every time I laughed, I never stopped doing that. Why did I do that? Who knows? Probably I just wanted to show I didn’t care.
You know, until know I’ve told you that I didn’t have anything to care about. But actually that’s not the case. Because, you know, there was one thing I actually liked. It was (long, tense drumroll)… my teddy bear. His name was Billy, and he was my pet, my brother, my mother. He was everything to me. He was really dirty from years of hugging in the bed. He was the only way I released my need of affection, or whatever that feeling was. He was small, but that was ok because I was small too; and he was brown, and lovely.
Anyway what did that bastard of guy do? He beheaded it. In front of me. What happened next, well it’s hard to describe. I still felt nothing, but it was a different nothing. It was like a pressure, which was making me boil inside. But you have to understand it wasn’t rage, only pressure. Maybe it was an impulse to act? To fight? To run? I watched perplexed this strange balloon growing inside my chest, and everywhere else. What was that? I never felt that before. Was that cause Billy was beheaded? I took his head in my hand. He looked… the same? The same without the body. The pressure was growing. I started becoming insecure of what to do next, that feeling was filling everything inside me.
I looked at that guy, at Billy, from one to another, growing tenser and tenser. Then something clicked inside me, and I started to run. Downstairs, across the street and into the park, and on and on and on. I arrived to the bus station, hopped on the first bus which was heading who knows where. I sat there until some hours later, then jumped off and started running again. It must have looked very strange to people who saw me that day. A kid running as fast as he could, his face motionless, a beheaded terry bear in his hand. Then I stumbled on a root, and felt on the ground. I knocked my head, and everything went from grey to black. And I thought I really liked that feeling.