Blood-Ties

I was waking up from my afternoon nap. It has been two days since I got home from college. Two quiet days.

My mother was sitting next to me. I reckoned by her sobs that she hasn’t gotten over the fight with my father. My room was her solace at the times like this. The sleep made me feel fresh and my stomach growled; I haven’t eaten anything for the past 24 hours. Perhaps, no one did in the house. I didn’t care.

I got out of my bed, brushed my teeth even though it was night 7 O' clock. I made myself some tea and tried to open the fridge to see if there is anything to eat. It was locked. Why would someone lock the fridge in their own house?

I went back to my mother. “It is your father, he took all the food and locked it inside”, she told me not waiting for me to ask the question.

I sighed. I know this is the start of another fight. I was calm. It is not the first time.

I walked up to his room, and knocked on his door. No answer. He usually sits with his headphone on, so I called at him louder. Nothing. I called him many more times, and silence greeted me back. I stood there before the closed door…waiting.

I looked down at my hands, it was shivering. My body is pumping me with adrenaline preparing me for the impending fight. Tears of anger were welling up my eyes, thinking of begging my own father for food.

I waited for another 15 minutes….waiting for him open the door. I cursed the moment, when I thought of coming home for my holidays. Two days… two days, I have been here. No one even noticed. No one asked how my college was; No one knew I flunked in another test. My family knew nothing about me. Somewhere in the past they had lost their daughter and I had lost my sense of direction.

I had enough. I had to end all these. I had to fix my life ….. some one has to die.

I walked back to kitchen. Searched for the knife. I returned back, to that locked door behind which my father was hiding. I knocked again. I was breathing heavily. In another 30 minutes, the vendetta of 24 years is going to end.

I took 2 steps back, kicked on the door with all my might. It budged a little. I heard my father getup from his chair in alarm. I did it again and again. The door didn’t break, apart from the slight bend. I pushed the door with my hands…stabbed on it with the knife. I did everything to break it through. The door didn’t yield. That door was not made to be broken by a wee 18 year old girl.

A pictured my father smiling at my futile attempts and my anger went up another notch. I looked around still holding the knife. I was alone in the hall; my mother was sitting in my room cocooned in her own misery. Out side my house, the neighbors were asleep. The night was calm even the crickets was not making the sound. Everything was so peaceful…so beautiful. Everything was right in the world I lived in, except for the boiling rage in my heart. Am I the only mis-fit in the peaceful world? Am I the only trouble-maker?

A scream broke thorough from my throat shattering the calmness of the night.

I screamed with all the anger that is in me. I saw the neighbors turning on their lights, and rushing outside. My mother who was a silent spectator till now rushed to me. I pushed her away. I loathed the acceptance she showed without even putting up a fight. I screamed again and again, at my helplessness. I screamed until I crumpled down on the floor.

When my screams faded down to wails, I looked up at the door of my father’s room with tears stained face.

It was still locked.