Yoo Nara

There was a time when I treasured life, believing it to be the most precious thing in the world; a fairytale even, all glimmering castles and happy endings.  My mother had taught me, showed me how to believe in even the smallest shards of hope.

I remember when we would camp out under my bed sheets, giggling quietly as she told me stories about far away princes and princesses that fell in love during extravagant balls, about mermaids that inhibited an ancient kingdom undersea. After each story, she’d pause for the slightest of moments to stare at some unknown point in the distance, sadness flashing across her face, as if she was searching for the magic that was so evident in her words. Even then, I had known.

I knew that she and my father weren’t happy, that he had married her for her wealthy background rather than for love. She was so young, so engrossed in him that at that point of time, she didn’t care. Love had blinded her to everything but the man before her eyes, the man that would later reveal himself to be a monster.

I knew that I was the only thing keeping her here, in the place that she dreaded most.

But just like the love between my parents, I wasn’t sure how long her love for me would hold out. It would only be a matter of time before enough was enough.

And I was right.

That night, after she tucked me in and dropped a quick kiss on my forehead, my father stormed into my room, yelling something largely incoherent as he dragged her out the door by her hair. The breeze that swept back in carried the scent of alcohol; it was obvious he was drunk again. I heard the screaming, the thumping of a body against a wall, repeatedly, a drum that reverberated throughout the house. It was terrifying, knowing that I was powerless to help the person I loved most. And so, I prayed for a miracle that never came.

Looking back, it’s funny how desperately foolish I was to believe in such things. Life was certainly far from precious; I was smart enough to realize it now.

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After she left, things never went back to normal.

Everyday, I still prayed for that miracle, but by now, it was more habitual than anything. There were no calls, no letters, and no explanation; for all I knew, she was dead, buried somewhere six feet under, never to be seen again. That’s how I treated her absence at least. She was never going to come back.

If anything, things only got worse. My father came home drunk more often than not, either mad or distraught from the loss of my mother. And with no one else, he me.

All I wanted was for him to love me. I wanted some validation that I wasn’t a mistake, that I belonged somewhere, to someone. Like the miracle, the feeling of belonging never came, and probably never would.

Maybe this was when it all started, those days where darkness overshadowed everything. The days where I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, opting instead to lie awake for hours contemplating how I too, could disappear. I imagined running away and starting all over, building myself up from the hole I had lived in for practically all my life. And then there were the days when the though of death crept up on me, whispering faintly the promise of a better place.

So to escape, I did what I knew best. I had always been a good student, but after all the chaos in my life, I devoted myself to school. It occurred to me that if I proved my worth, maybe, just maybe, someone would come to love me. But then again, who would love someone as damaged as me?

Love.It was all I wanted. A little comfort in return for all the things I had lost faith in. It was sad how I already knew I was asking for too much.

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Like this, life continued on, leaving me stumbling behind in the quickness of it all. The years passed by one by one, everything occurring too fast for comfort. My elementary school days were gone in a blink of an eye and after that, middle school and most of high school passed by just as quickly. People came and went but I never took notice. I was 17 now, yet I still felt like the same little girl that used to cry over skinned knees and spilled milk.

In the wake of it all, I had created my own world as a source of comfort; a place where I could escape to with my books when I couldn’t handle the pressure. A clean and empty space where I could come back to breathe when all the walls became too close for me to ignore the feeling of suffocation.

Studying gave me relief, a temporary illusion of freedom that gave me strength to go on just a little bit longer. It was the only thing I knew how to do. I liked it because I could do it alone, because the things you study are already dead, cold, chewed over. The pages of the schoolbooks were all the same temperature, that they left you time to choose. I liked the fact that they never hurt me and I couldn’t hurt them either.

Books gave me hope that even the years flying by couldn’t diminish. I still kept that tiny piece of hope in my heart that one day, I’d be free. Precious freedom from everything.

Hi everyone ~ how was the first chapter? I know it's moving a bit slowly, but every story need a little background information, right? I've already half written so it only needs to be edited. Gosh, I hope I finish before the deadline...Please wait patienly for me! ^^