Tell me your story...

It fell from a window above as she walked past one of the hundreds of apartment buildings. A little, black notebook thumped onto her head and now lay open in her hands. Looking up, she couldn't see where it had originated from, nor did it seem to have any writing in it to identify its owner, but something about the notebook told her that she was meant to find it that day and she held onto it as she continued her long walk to work.

Waitressing was never particularly hard for Ellie. The fake smiles and apologetic nature of the job was all she knew outside of work – it was no different getting paid to do it. After a particularly harrowing shift, Ellie counted her tips, earning $42, not nearly enough for her parent’s’ liking. She cringed as she stuffed the money into her worn out jacket, making sure it was the pocket with no holes, before she grabbed the little, black book and left for home.

Ellie kept her head down as she roamed the back streets to her house. She knew from experience the things that people at this time of night would say or do to her. Shuddering at a particularly violent memory, Ellie pulled her jacket tighter around her and turned into another darkened alleyway, cursing once again at the location of her family home. Once again, she imagined running away from the life she currently lived, though the last time she tried, her parents found her and dragged her back. Lost in her thoughts, Ellie tripped over a stray foot, falling forward, her hands jutting out to stop her from landing face-first on the gravel.

“Well well well, what have we here?” A cliché looking mugger appeared from the shadows, “A pretty girl falling at my feet – it must be my lucky day.”

Ellie scrambled up to her feet, feeling sick at the thought of what this man would make her do, shakily responding, “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to trip over you.”

“How will you make up for it, girl?” He spat at her.

Ellie was at a loss, trembling with fear, knowing her small stature and weary legs wouldn’t help her in this time.

“I can think of something.” The man leered, looming over her and beginning to unbuckle his pants.

Ellie froze, eyes wide as she silently prayed for anything to come and save her. Nothing was coming though, no one would save her this time, no one ever did. The man roughly grabbed her arm, leaning down and taking a whiff of the top of her head, shirking down her jacket over her arm. Suddenly, she felt a confidence and a warmth in her hands, and holding onto the book tightly, she pulled it up and whacked the man over his head, breaking free in his daze and beginning to run.

“Bitch!” The man yelled at her as he lunged and grabbed onto her leg, causing her to fall again and her money to spill out of her pocket. However, Ellie didn’t notice, nor care. She kicked the man off her leg and ran for her life, not stopping until she was at her front door.

Steeling herself, Ellie pushed open the door, her parents looking up from their position on the couch. Every night she hoped they’d be asleep when she came home and every night, she was disappointed to find them waiting for her.

“How much?” Her mother asked, standing from the couch and holding her hand out to her.

“Forty-two dollars.” Ellie mumbled.

“Speak up, girl.” Her father joined his wife.

Ellie repeated herself as she shoved her hand into her pocket to retrieve the money.

“Forty-two dollars? That’s not even enough for a case of good beer.” Her father scolded her as her mother came and slapped her.

“Well, give it here then.” Her mother held out her hand once more.

Ellie’s eyes widened in fear and worry, realising the money was gone, “I – I was mugged.”

“Useless girl!” Her mother thundered as she delivered another slap to Ellie’s face. Her cheek stung but she refused to cry. Crying made them hit her more.

“I don’t know why we bother to keep you. You cost more than you’re worth.” Her father continued as he gripped her arm with a strength she was familiar with, dragging her to her bedroom and throwing her in. Ellie landed on the floor with a whimper and her father gave her a final kick in the ribs before he shut her in and locked the door.

She still refused to cry, with years and years of abuse under her belt, this night was particularly tame in comparison. Undressing herself, she winced at the pain in her ribs and studied the blooming bruise of her father’s fingerprints on her arm. She cleaned her wounds she could reach with an old t-shirt, using the last of her antiseptic on her scraped hands. Alone, she sat at her small table, looking out of her window at the moon and wishing her life could be different. Ellie wished she had the courage to leave her family, to move far away and start a new life in a place where she could make friends and find people who would love her.

She looked down and hadn’t realised she’d been thumbing through the little, black book. On the inside cover in calligraphy, it read ‘Tell me your story…” but the entire notebook was blank. Ellie didn’t think much of it, but she took her pen and began to write. She wrote about the abuse, the loneliness, the heartache that she suffered. She wrote about specific scenarios and her broad emotions, willing everything into the notebook in front of her. She wrote about her dreams, to leave this place behind, to help people just like her. She poured her heart into the story she wrote, telling the book everything she’d never spoken to anyone. When she was done, she felt as though a weight was off her shoulders, finally getting out everything she had been holding in for years. She closed the book and lifted a floorboard, placing it in there along with her most precious possessions – a deck of cards from her maternal grandfather, the only person who had shown her any love in her life, a photograph of her childhood best friend, a girl who had moved away from her and she’d not been allowed to contact ever since, and a small amount of money that she had managed to smuggle from her parents, though not nearly enough to leave her life behind.

Ellie curled into herself on her bare bed, pulling the thin sheet over her body and willing warmth to come to her as she closed her eyes to sleep.

***

The morning felt different. Ellie rolled over, shielding her eyes from the light that was already streaming through her window. She flexed her shoulder, feeling as though it was completely fine. Curious, she continued by checking the scrapes on her hands which had also mysteriously disappeared, so she scrambled to look at the bruises on her ribs which were nowhere to be seen. Ellie thought she must be hallucinating, she went to her door and turned the handle, remembering it was locked the night before, but strangely it was unlocked. Creeping through the house, it was oddly silent. Ellie moved silently to look for her parents, but they were nowhere to be found, not even a trace of them remained in the house. Ellie was confused, but deciding not to question it, she tore back through the house to her bedroom, ready to pack her things and leave. After packing her small amount of possessions into a backpack, she opened her secret floorboard and immediately fell to her knees. In the small hollow in her floor were the normal items she had left, but instead of the measly amount of money she’d saved for herself, there was clearly a stack of notes, she’d have to estimate around $20,000. Ellie was about to cry, pulling out the money and stuffing it into her backpack, finally looking around for the little, black book she’d been writing in the night before, though it wasn’t where she’d left it. Thinking nothing of it, she left her house with a lightness in her step, knowing it was the last time she’d ever visit. She caught a bus to a transnational train station and took the train across country, beginning a new life – her dream life.

***

He was warming his hands on a fire made in an old oil tank, pulling at a hole in his jacket and shrinking further into his clothes. As the fire dwindled, he turned to reach for some more garbage to fuel the fire and his hand closed on a little, black book. Something about it told him to hold onto it, not throw it in the fire and he flipped it open. It was surprisingly blank, with the only words in the entire book reading ‘Tell me your story…’