Prompt by ilovevi

Based on "Halo" by Beyoncé

Halo

I can still remember the shouting. I remember the picture of my dad throwing bottles of glass against the walls while my mother returned the same crashing with the form of insults and words which were supposed to be prohibited inside our house. Both used to forget my existence or Hanna’s and lose themselves in their own personal despise circle in which we weren’t invited to merge. But it soon came the night when my dad changed his bottles for my mother’s body and she ended up crouched against one of the corners of the kitchen with a subtle red line slipping down her face.

I remember running out from our house into the night in fear. I was terrified of my own escape, terrified by the anger in my father’s face, terrified of losing my mother and terrified by the darkness I was suddenly submerged in. My feet found their own will, rhythm, and direction and I found myself, time later, wandering lost through streets and places I did not know nor recognize. The town we used to live in was peaceful, silent, but the worst of all was its indifference. It still seems to me that night even the facades of the houses turned back in an attempt to ignore my lost existence. When my legs became tired I, without any other idea as of what to do, sat over one sidewalk and cried. For an instant, I wished for things to be different. I can, even now, hear the thoughts swirling that night inside my mind for they had strength, a particular overwhelming strength of someone who is fighting for his life against brutal ocean tides. My thoughts seemed like arms extending in front of my body searching for something to grab onto, though that night nothing was there, only a peaceful dark sky.

My tears were innocent, as any other children’s tears are supposed to be. Filled with good emotions but without any idea of a particular action. They were made of dreams. I wished my parents could look at each other or at us without shouting profanities. I dreamed for tender arms surrounding my fears. I expected for a protective angel like the one my mother used to relate for me when I was younger. But none came or became real. Every one of them fell onto the floor in form of wet broken children's dreams. And when I lifted my eyes prepared for facing reality, for hearing my childhood breaking overwhelmed by the crudeness around me, a pair of lights dazzled my sight followed by a gentle feminine face smiling and caressing my wet cheeks.

The couple picked me up from the street and made me sat at the back of their gray van next to a young boy, their son I suppose. The boy was looking at me with fearful hazel eyes though something, maybe the way he wasn’t backing away but frozen in his spot, conveyed me he wasn’t afraid of me but of my pain. Two minutes later his face changed to subtle compassion and he approached me carefully and placed one of his arms around my shoulders, pulling me against him, letting me cuddle against his chest and cry. I felt shielded from the cruel world around me for the first time. With his probably ten years, this boy had achieved what none of the adults in my life could: make me feel safe. A kind of calming halo surrounded me, caressing the strings still vibrating inside my chest until silencing them, until silencing my crying. His mom turned her face to watch us from time to time and her eyes looked at me as if she already knew I was part of her family, part of her.

But all of it was momentary, with a start and an end. When my own parents entered inside the commissary with worried gestures and pulled me away from his embrace, they broke it. They pulled me away from my recently found favorite place on earth - his arms. They broke the light twinkling amidst my night. And when I saw him walking away I knew that moment was the most important of my life, not for its beautifulness but for its relevance inside