Kelsey Lott
Stories (2/0)
Harlow's Haven (Ch. 2)
HER was succumbed to a mental ward, everyone fearing for the unborn flesh that was growing inside. I was placed in a foster system till the age of seven. Like a rag, thrown from house to house, although the family’s promises were all the same. The euphoria never lasted, they didn’t understand why I couldn’t play a theatrical role of “big, happy family,” even though my caseworker pleaded with them to give me a chance. Her name was Bertha. Anyways, my “stays” never extended a month… as I was quickly labeled the problem child. What did they expect? Most of them failed to understand their own kids were vile. One time I was at a house and the kid told me if I did not leave, he’d tell his parents I’d stolen from him. The audacity! That was not the worst bit though; at another house, the kid threatened to stab me in my sleep. Therefore, I threatened to punch his face and he went crying to his mommy and daddy, he was such a little witch. One day, I was staring at the ceiling... I always loved how it just stayed there. It was faithfully constant. The only thing in my life that was. That I could depend on to stay the same. Enough of that sappy story—we will get back to that soon. Bertha was just about to take me to my fifteenth house when she received a call that would again change my life forever. HER was out of the psych ward, and doing very well. HER had a place in Austin, Texas where she lived with my sisters and my new stepdaddy. HER had finally made the call to get me back. HER moved on too soon. I never forgave HER for that. But as I got older, I learned that people grieve differently. Bertha and I both flew down to Austin that weekend to visit. And there HE was. HE was so charming. HE promised everything, a place to go, to take care of my sisters and I, to honor my mother and us in sickness in health. I thought I’d finally get my fairytale ending like you see in the movies. So cliche, I know. Without any hesitation, as soon as the case work files were doled out, Austin was finally going to be home. And it was for a few short months that I finally had the childhood I so desperately ached for. But there was always a storm a-brewing, and it is dumb to think a perfect family exists.
By Kelsey Lott5 years ago in Psyche
Harlow's Haven
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Birds made their rounds around the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You awaken from a brief sleep. The clock shows 3:15 AM. You hear HE yelling, obscenities again. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. It’s way too early for this, HE must have stayed awake through the night again. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You can hear HER running up the stairs, her muffled pleads overshadowed by HE’s fit of rage. You hear the faint sound of glass breaking, the sound becoming more clearer with every step you take towards your bedroom door. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Your grandfather’s clock seems to stop in the moment of time. You wish it all would stop. You wish your dad was still here. Your real dad. The dad you’ve never known, he died protecting the country… a single gunshot wound to the heart, the obituary read. So senseless, and short, that damn obituary. All he did for our country, and all the favors he did for people he thought were his friends, no one even bothered to show up. No one, except my mother and I. Holding HER hand, I did not yet understand that when I lost him, I lost HER too. Now he’s buried in a vat of dirt in the ground. I was three when it happened. I recollect a man in a bright blue suit, knocking on the door and giving HER a letter. I remember her tearing the crease, to a single piece of parchment paper reading over it with her trembling fingers, and then falling to the ground. I remember HER being hysterical. HER was pregnant with my baby sisters at the time, as she rolled on the floor, a carticuare of her own body. I could not help but giggle, for I could not understand what was happening. It was then that my mother shooed the men out the door and then ran up our spiral staircase and locked herself in her room. I could remember it was days of isolation for I fed myself with what was in the pantry, and when I had eaten the last piece of bread, I walked towards the nearest house I could find with my stuffed bear in hand, knocked on the door and asked if I could have something to eat. I remember the sound of flashing lights, the blue and red sirens seemed like they were dancing in my eyes. The men in suits came and took her from me. I was just five years old. Just a few years ago, when I was old enough to understand, I learned that she had tried to kill herself the first night she was stolen from me.
By Kelsey Lott5 years ago in Psyche