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Problems of an Eight Year Old

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posted on Sep, 12 2015 @ 11:39 AM
Dreamland. Takes me away from my aches and pains. From my hunger. It feels so good to close my eyes, and to let my mind and focus slip to the vast universe of my subconscious. Even when I feel like Im not thinking, I am. Even when I feel like stopping, I dont.
So many fears and so many stresses gone, when I close my eyes. Maybe some psychologist or a brain expert can explain what happens. Maybe even a dusty raisin-skin medicine man has some story to tell about it. But I dont really care right now anyways, I am too tired. It feels so good to close my eyes.
Then there is noise. A shuffle of muffled chaos. Is it the big bang? Is it a roar of voices, united in celebration, or war? I listen in, the muted noise drawing me closer. Sounds like people moving, frantic in nature. Raised voices, chanting an angry desperate anthem. I hold my breath, and focus in.
I open my eyes. There is a struggle in the room next door. I look around my room, but my eyes have always been "hard of seeing", so I see mostly black in the early morning hours. Then there was light. Clear stars pierced through the window like a fresh water from a cold stream. At least thats what I think they look like, Im half blind.
The raised voices continue. Desperate and angered, but muffled by the bedroom door. Is my mother out there? I jump out of bed, awake and alert from the commotion. I peak out of the bedroom door. My mother walks in distressed.
"Go back to bed"
"Whats going on?"
My mother goes to the window, and looks out.
"Go back to bed"
I obey, and lay in silence for what feels like long enough to ask again.
"Mom, whats going on?"
In the dark, her beautiful silhouette against the the star lit window, looks hesitated. In a shaking voice I rarely hear, she says "Your father is trying to blow up the house"

posted on Sep, 24 2015 @ 03:36 PM
That cant be true I think to myself. Father was a soldier many years ago, Mom always told us about stories of intense army training and the screaming eagle. At school I was proud of my fathers service. My cousins all thought he was the coolest dad in the family and I wanted to be just like him. At least in some ways.
"Your father is trying to blow up the house"
I throw off my blanket and run to the window by my mother. I push my face against the frozen sheet of glass and look for the bomber, but I only see grandma Helens abandoned house, a tombstone reminder of happier times.

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