The Story of Bernadette

It was a cold day. The windows were covered in frost, and the grass was now buried under a white fluffy layer of snow. I can still remember it even now. I can remember the laughter and the smiles on the children's faces as I walked past the houses. It was truly a joyous time. You must be wondering what changed. Well, I wouldn't be able to tell you, but maybe she could. Who? Oh my, it appears you have also forgotten her. It's such a shame, but what can I really do about it? I can't blame you, so the only thing left is to show you. So gather around and let me tell the tale of our precious Bernadette. It was the beginning of spring when she came and graced us with her presence. The children were in school, the parents at work, and then there was me. I was not a child or an adult, for I was in the in-between. I was young and still trying to figure out some struggles of my own. For example, my father was an alcoholic and he would constantly come home and abuse us. My mother was always first, though, because she would always hide me in places where she didn't think I would be found. I was safe until he noticed I was nowhere to be seen. She'd always try to stall for me to get away, but neither she nor I was strong enough to hold him back. I can still remember the bruises he left on me. The cries of my mother as he forced himself onto her. I knew that she was being beaten severely, and I begged her to leave him or at least try to escape with me. I couldn't stand the thought of someone as kind and loving as her being abused and mistreated by someone like him. However, we both knew that we couldn't. How could we leave when we weren't even able to open the door? We needed a key, but the only person who had one was my father. Cruel, right, but don't worry because I found a way out.I can't say the same for my mother, though. He always left the kitchen window open, but since we lived on the second floor, I never wanted to risk the damage. Although one day, my father bought some rope and commended my mother to hang herself. I could hear her crying and him screaming at her to end her life. I was hiding under the bathroom sink when I heard glass shattering.I heard the door opening and some very familiar steps walking in my direction. I knew he was looking for me but I didn’t think he would come here out of all places. The steps got close, quiet, and then they started walking away from the bathroom. I sighed and peaked out once I felt it was clear. I didn’t see anything at first, not until he grabbed my hand and drug me out of the cabinet. Of course, I screamed and cried, but it was of no effect to him. I guess he was too drunk to hear. He brought me to the living room and sat me down on a folding chair. He said, "Either you die or she does." I could tell just from the sound of his voice that he was serious. He held a chipped kitchen knife to my throat and forced me to look into my mothers eyes. She was terrified, and I could understand why. She had to choose between herself or me. I wasn't that scared, though. Not for myself, at least. I was more worried for my mother and pleaded with my eyes for her to use the rope and climb down to freedom. However, if that were truly the case, then I wouldn't be here. I was forced to watch my mother commit suicide. I was forced to sit there and watch as the only kind person in my life was taken away from me. She didn't die right away. Oh no, she died after minutes of choking and swinging from side to side. My father was obviously enjoying watching her suffer. He couldn't even stop laughing as he watched her face turn purple. He was truly insane but I had no choice but to live with him. That is until he left for work a few days later. You see, after all the years I've spent living through the abuse, I've developed a high pain tolerance. It was high enough for me to jump down from the second floor and still be ok. However, I still wanted to be safe, so I reluctantly removed the rope from my mothers rotting corpse and used it to climb out the window. Trust me when I say it was no easy task. Having to use the rope that was holding your mother to climb out the window was almost as traumatic as what would happen if my father caught me. He has a tendency to come home at random times just to make sure we didn't escape. I even imagined the sound of his car pulling into the driveway, but the thought of staring into my mother's cold eyes was enough to keep me going.I was able to make it the ground with only a slight stumble, and when I looked around and took a deep breath of the warm air, I knew that I was free.