Glass shattering, Father yelling, dog barking, Mother wailing.
The orchestra of violence began its twisted symphony once again in the apartment Harris called home. This time he was bent over Grade 10 Calculus, finding refuge in complicated equations and marveling at their orderliness. These questions might be difficult, but they could be solved by the correct method and he could arrive at the correct answer. Harris sought refuge in them an orderliness from the chaos that ensued after school and on weekends.
He groaned inwardly. Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony could not drown out the live orchestra; the pale yellow curtain separating his little room and the living room was not at all soundproof. Harris was loathe to leave his chair. With legs still crossed, he continued twiddling his pencil as if nothing of concern had happened.
Then the glass shattering and Father yelling and dog barking and Mother wailing grew in volume and intensified to a point that Harris could no longer ignore. Today’s concerto was louder than usual. It was too loud. He felt anger and resentment welling up, like hot lava melting his usual icy apathy. He told Mother to leave Father. He told her but she refused to listen. Always.
The orchestra of glass shattering and Father yelling and dog barking and Mother wailing had just reached a crescendo. Fortissimo. That was it, Harris thought, he had to step in. He took the Swiss army knife that he had hidden beneath a neat stack of Physics and Math homework in his drawer and spun the blade out, before passing through the thin yellow film into the living room.
Harris was met with the same familiar sight: Father crouching over Mother. Belligerent, fully drunk Father lashing his belt out as a cruel master cracked his whip at his poor mule. Mother kneeling down in a grey-stained dress with the most swollen and puffy eyes, head bent and almost touching the ground. Scruffy the Border Collie was just running around them tirelessly in circles and barking the whole time, as if telling Father to stop.
But Father never did til he finally collapsed like a dead man, inebriated beyond consciousness. He would not stir, still and unmoving, til the rays of the noonday sun shone through their apartment’s tiny windows. Sometimes, a great many times, Harris had hoped that Father would lie there, still and unmoving, forever.
Now - he’ll make that wish come true.
This short story is dedicated to anyone suffering from domestic violence.
Please, know that domestic violence is not okay, and please seek appropriate help as soon as you can. My heart goes out to you, whoever you are <3
P.S. Thank you @themarkymark for organizing this great contest! I was very thrilled when I first heard about it. Looking forward to many more weeks of writing with y'all!
