When God’s Blessing Become A Curse ~
I opened my eyes in a crippling country on a stormy day; the midwife couldn’t come, and mother had to struggle through my birth alone with half a candle and four crying creatures, my father included.
My mother died cursing me because I was “unsightly, had no penis, and just another unwanted mouth to feed”. Now let’s stop here ~ One cannot tell a seven year old that simply and just die! No; I don’t hate my mother; I hate the society that brainwashed her into hating me. Yes; I pity her, but I also am ashamed of her for being such a fragile intellectually and emotionally retarded woman. She was not proud of me, and I am not proud of her. But she just had to die scarring me with these words! I spent the coming days, dear mother, squeezing my big nose until I suffocated so that it becomes narrower, not laughing or speaking much so my yellow teeth won’t show, and figuring out how to stick a penis on me (I did, however, end up discovering how to stick it in me when older) Now what do we have? A dead un-forgiven woman and a traumatized child ~ THANK YOU!
My siblings died during the same period mum died. The usual outbreak of disease once in a generation wiped them out, leaving me with my father, who was annoying me most of the time with his planning on how he will become a great man one day, with six palaces, one to each family member, which became five when mum died, eventually became two. Now here’s the deal with my father; I don’t respect him that much. I do respect a person who has dreams and lives to achieve them, but not a person who depends on others when creating his dreams. His dreams should be his, not mutually shared with us, because we never asked for the palaces he offered in the first place. Another reason why I don’t respect him is that these useless day-dream moments consumed many moments that were supposed to be dedicated towards feeding us, the ‘unwanted mouths to feed’. He returned many nights cheated and broke and broken, needing compassion and support, which is the last thing we could have offered him. He just could not survive in such a world, so Lady Luck decided to smile upon me, and when I was approaching ten, he died, and that was the beginning of the rest of my life.
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Excerpts from a novelette/story/whatever I'm working on, but it will likely be a bildungsroman and Jane Eyre-ish to a degree ~ I normally hate such types of writing that begins with "I was born" and "mum was this" and "dad was that" so it may undergo editing in the future, but here I am
Criticism and Feedback appreciated ~ 