Home ~ Literature/Story ~ Seen In a Window

     I always dreaded the morning, though every morning came with the rising of the beautiful sun and the getting ready for the day, I still hated it. My mornings were nothing less than the same as everyone else’s mornings, but in a way they were different. It’s as though every morning was filled with clouds and rain, instead of the bright sunshine. My days were always fine and dandy except in the morning. Though my time of dread only lasted a minute or so, that was still long enough.
      Every morning, I start out just like a normal youth of my age would. I wake up and turn off my alarm clock; then after using the bathroom, I’d wash up. After washing-up, I brush my teeth and comb my hair; I then go back into my room for my clothes. This is the first moment that darkens my day, as I go for my pants and shirt that I lay out on my chair the night before; I stop and look into my window. Many others call it a mirror, but I call it a window because of the simple fact that you can’t look through a mirror no matter how hard you try. Every day I stop and look into my mirror hoping to see through the mirror and into the world I wish I could be; but instead I see into the mirror, and into the truth. I always stop and look into my window because it does what it’s supposed to do, reflect. So as I look into the window, I’m seeing myself as I am and not how I wish I were. After looking at myself as I am, I get dressed and head out for school.
      One may think that looking into my window, how I see it, would be sort of a meditation period for me, or a wake-up period or something else of that genera. Nevertheless it is in a sort, but it’s different from meditation. When one meditates, they relax themselves but when I look into my window, I remember.
      When I was younger, I had an abusive family. My father and mother constantly fought. My father abused me, while my mother just sat there helpless to do anything to stop him. My uncle who lived with us wasn’t of any help either; in fact he made things worse for my mother and me emotionally. He always told us that we were ugly and worth nothing and would amount to nothing in our lives. He basically treated us like a common household appliance, nothing special about it. We were just there for use.
      Fortunately a few years later, my mother finally decided to do what she had been too afraid to do. She filed for divorce then told the police about the horrible abuse that we had gone through for a good seven long years. My father was arrested, tried, found guilty and put in jail; and we never heard from him again. My uncle was let off easy, from what I heard; he became religious, changed his ways, got married and had two children. My mother got over the abuse after a few years.
      Unfortunately, even though my father’s incarcerated and we’ve started a new life, I keep remembering the abuse and what my uncle said about me. So now everyday, I look in that mirror and I remember how it was, to reflect I guess you could say. I get dressed, look back into that window, this time seeing through it into the way life is now, and I try to forget how it was; to get on with my life as it is now. After I get dressed and look through the window that is a mirror, I leave for school, to continue my new life one morning at a time.

 

 

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