There’s a strange beauty about Barley park. It’s an abandoned neighborhood built in the late 19th and early 20th century. A once grand symbol of wealth and prosperity now a symbol of failure. Terrible things happen here. Many folks avoid this place, but I didn’t and I never once regretted it. I like to use this old mansion as a sort of hideout when things get bad at home. It’s a french revival style house with a castle-like spire on the corner with a marble entryway just on the opposite side of the house, offsetting the red bricks and black roof shingles. The house has been abandoned since 1973 if the old newspapers are any indication.

Home was a bad place to be when your dad's a cop who does nothing but drink when he's not working...

“HOW DARE YOU TALK BACK TO ME AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE SACRIFICED TO KEEP THIS HOUSEHOLD AFLOAT!”

That voice seemed distant as I lay on the floor, the taste of blood churning my stomach as it filled my mouth. What happened? I couldn’t remember. My head hurt so bad that I couldn’t cry let alone get up.

“RICHARD PLEASE STOP, HE’S HAD ENOUGH,” my mom screamed, harmonizing with the essence of terror and adding to the harsh cacophony of glass breaking, the tv blasting out something about a baseball strike, and goodness knows how many police cars that roared up the street.

I instinctively curled up as my head began to scream in undeniable agony, tears running down to the floor when I was suddenly grabbed by the collar of my shirt and inharmoniously dragged upstairs, slammed against the door and whipped until I screamed with his belt. I was then thrown into the room, the door locking behind me as it was slammed shut.

“Stupid bitch, you’re just like your mother,” he said.

Receding footsteps let me know that he had left and with that realization, I began to sob uncontrollably, knowing that if he’d heard me cry before he got out of earshot, he’d make it an even longer night. He gets off when I cry.

I curled up in a ball, I was in agony, but before long, I forced myself up, nearly puking from the wave of nausea. I managed to cut my sobbing down to pitiful whimpering as I limped to my desk and grabbed my Walkman from the desktop. I donned my sony headphones and pressed play, the sound of In The Light by Led Zeppelin filling my ears and hurting my head as I gathered up my backpack, a few cassette tapes, and putting on my Converse. I sighed as I realized that I forgot to put my hoodie on and dropped my bag before putting it on. It was an XL even though a small would’ve fit, but I preferred this fit better. I put my bag over my shoulder and went to the window, slowly cracking the seal, and gently nudging it open, wincing at every squeak and minor squeal before sliding out of the dormer window onto the roof with ease. I lay flat, sliding across the wet shingles, receiving a few cuts for my trouble, before reaching the end of the roof and climbing down the roof, to the fence, to the ground, shaking as I finished.

Author's Note

Continue?

(Y,N)