My youth years were grim as death lurked around every corner. My most prominent memory is when I stayed up late one night watching my parents play poker at the kitchen table with some of their friends, they were laughing, joking, and drinking. While in the middle of the second game some crazy people with beanies pulled down over their faces with only eye holes cut out, long sleeve black shirts, black pants, and oddly enough white shoes, they looked brand new, burst through the front door at 2:45 a.m. They waved guns around demanding everyone to the ground. I felt my heart thumping nervously in my chest, but I did not dare to move. I found myself mesmerized by the sight of dark red blood that painted the walls in a thick spatter as the masked men shot my parents' friends. My father, Aarron, stood up from his chair slowly, the legs of the chair made a loud screech like nails on a chalk board as they slid across the ceramic tiled floors leaving a dark grey skid mark (my mother hated those marks and swore she was going to put rubber caps on them so she would not have to keep cleaning them, but so far, she had yet to do so). My mother, Marcy, just sat still with a blank expression on her face not moving an inch, staring at the intruders. It happened so quickly that I did not even have time to think. No one spoke a word out loud although it was obvious a conversation was being held, I could tell by their body language and the faint scratchy voices in my head; it sounded like the static you hear on the radio when the station is not coming in clearly, but you can still understand the song that was playing. They were talking about some kind of deal gone wrong. It made my father angry and one of the masked men's legs snapped and he fell to the ground screaming aloud in agony. 'Shit' was the first word I was able to finally speak to myself in my head. As soon as I freed the word my mother turned and shot an angry glare at me. I was seated near the top of the staircase, about the third step down from the top. 'Busted' I spoke in my head again. 'Busted is right, you should be in bed.' I could hear my mother speak although it was still static, but I noticed her mouth never moved. "Go now! I will deal with you in the morning." She finished, and I ran to my room.

I lay confused in my bed letting the thoughts run free in my mind. I had never heard anyone else but myself speak inside my head before and I could not grasp the concept. I almost felt like Dr. Dolittle, except I was not talking to animals, and I was not talking aloud. I could not bring myself to fall asleep that night, my mind was racing with so many questions, what was going on downstairs, how did I hear my mother speak to me without her mouth opening, were the intruders going to get past my parents and get me, my brother Ben, and my sister Sarah?

Surprisingly, morning came quickly, and I was not interested in what my mother was going to do or say to me. My sister came into my room as she always did at 7:00 a.m. to wake me, I found this odd because she did not have an alarm clock and it was Saturday morning, there was no school. It was like she had an internal alarm clock or something. After she woke me (even though I was already awake this particular morning) she ran to our brother Ben's room to wake him. The three of us went downstairs together where mom was making breakfast, eggs, bacon, biscuits with white gravy, and orange juice. Dad was already seated at the head of the table and a big smile on his face greeting each of us as we sat in our usual spots, Ben and Sarah on his left and me on his right, mom always sat at the end of the table directly in front of dad. While I sat there, curiosity struck, and I looked around the room. There was no sign of what happened the previous night, no blood, no bodies, no bullet holes, no broken door, nothing (come to think of it, I never heard any gun shots from when the intruders shot my parents' friends). Mother finished cooking and arranged the food on our plates in a kiddie fashion; a smiley face, the eggs were the eyes, the smile was the bacon, and a single white gravy topped biscuit for a nose. Mom had a big smile on her face as well. Considering what happened the night before (losing their friends in a vicious manor) you would think they would be grieving instead of carrying on like a couple of clowns in a damn circus with their smiles painted from ear to ear.

Breakfast carried on along with the rest of the day as our Saturdays always did without any sign or mention of what happened. I began to think I was dreaming, but how could it have been a dream? I had not gone to sleep. Nothing about the day felt right, from the ugly grins on my parent's faces to the obnoxious family movie time that night, (we watched Dumb and Dumber, ate popcorn and candy with the lights off and the volume up ear popping loud as if we were sitting front row at the theater, the only thing missing was the neck strain) and everything in between. I wanted to know what was going on, I wanted to understand what was happening, more importantly...did mom not say she would deal with me the next morning?

From that point on, my life had been altered forever, I was eight years old, my brother Ben and sister Sarah were six, they are twins. I was unsure at the time if they could hear people talk without their mouth moving or not, or maybe they were just not old enough yet. My childhood got worse, and my parents began treating me different, the beatings, the voices in my head cursing me for every decision I tried to make (I say tried because when I did make a decision, the voices went against me and convinced me to do the opposite. My parents put me through hell, and I am surprised I survived the unspeakable acts of rage held against me; I still do not understand what I did so wrong for them to commit such heinous crimes against me. The older I got the worse the beatings got, until I was finally able to break free and leave, but not without a fight.