How could it be that the one time my mom decides to cook, the house goes on fire? That is just not right, nor is it smart. I knew that it was wrong to be mad at her when she was dead, but I was madder at myself for not preventing her to even touch anything flammable. Although she was part of the reason my life sucked, at least it gave me a little purpose taking care of her.
After my dad died when I was twelve, she slowly started to lose sanity. She was depressed for a year, refusing help for the fact it would be embarrassing that a therapist would need help. She forgot my name and everything else about me a lot and she quit her job as a therapist, forcing me to get a job at a grocery store. She believed her patients were “going to get her”. I was pretty sure she was going schizophrenic, but when I tried to tell her to get some help she just barked at me saying I was a part of all of it if I picked up the phone. I felt pity for her and just worked basically as her house maid. When I did she started treating me as a servant. She blamed me for everything and suspected me of many things, threatening to “rat me out” to the police. Even though there was nothing to prove, I didn’t want to go through the hassle. My temper ran short so I would get angry at her many times, but I would try to calm myself down by telling myself it’s not her fault she’s mentally crabby.
This news had to be the worst sound I had ever heard, but I was wrong. The worst sound came moments later. There was a sickening crack. I looked down at the tree. There was a huge split right where I was standing. I tried to get off but my body couldn’t move, it was still in shock.
“Move” I told myself, but my feet still didn’t listen, at least not in time.
There was one more crack and then nothing but air. It lasted forever and for a second. What felt like a century, but also a moment, later I felt an icy cold blast of water hit my head, I accidently breathed in some. My head rose above the water choking for air as the strong current pulled me under again. I lashed out, looking for something to grab onto. Fortunately I found a rock. I held onto it while I tried to catch my breath. The water was arctic cold in the middle of this freezing winter. I was surprised that the river hadn’t frozen over by now. Then again, if it did, I’d probably dead or at least in more pain.
My dad died two days after my twelfth birthday. He decided to go climb the Application Mountains. I asked if I could go, but he said no. I’m almost glad he did. He died by a rock slide the day after he left. My dad was killed by earth, my mom died of a fire, and I’m about to drown. Why is my life so ironic?
To my horror, I saw half of the tree hurdling towards me. Before I could do anything I was pushed off the rock and was under water again. The branches were tangled in my russet brown hair and hooked in my jacket, scratching me as I moved. I kept trying to squirm free, but my efforts were wasted. I struggled to get my head out of the water and keep it there, but the weight of the tree pulled me down just seconds after I had a strained breath.
The sides of my arms scraped the walls of the gorge. It hurt so much; it felt like I was being grated. When I was little I was riding a scooter down a steep hill with my eyes closed. Near the bottom, the front wheel hit a rock and I flew off of it. I shattered my knee cap on the hard concrete. I bawled out from the pain. My dad rushed to my aid, telling me not to think about the pain. I shut my eyes and tried, my efforts were useless. Between gasps I told him it was hard. He told me think about my mother’s lullaby. This time it worked.
I shut my eyes and thought about the lullaby. It was a sweet melody. I loved it. The pain began to slacken a little, but song started to come slower. I desperately tried to remember the words, but I was forgetting them and mixing it up. I couldn’t believe I was forgetting the song my mother sang to me when I was a kid, and the song I sang to myself when I needed the comforting that no one else would give me when my dad died. I shot into the air and grabbed a needed breath. My head started to clear. I successfully remembered the song, and the pain was gone. Actually it was still there, but it was dull and barely there, like background music that no one ever listens to.
I once again had the dreadful sensation of falling, but I was still in the water. The rushing water stung my eyes, so I couldn’t see anything. There was another ice-cold blast of water again, but since I was already only half conscious and submerged in water, it hurt less. Suddenly, the current was gone, just a gentle push and pull of the water. I tried to move my arms so I could swim to the edge, but the branches trapped my arms. I tried to move the rest of my body, but I just ended up under the tree.
I narrowed my eyes in frustration. This tree was not helping. I lifted my head out of the water so I could breathe. I was lucky I was at least able to lift my head, but that’s it. I closed my eyes and waited for the soft current to pull me to the edge. As I got closer, the tree got heavier. When I could feel the gravel beneath me, I used my fingers to go a little faster. By now I could barely move under the tree. When I finally got to edge, I could not move my lower body. The tree was crushing my legs. I gritted my teeth as the pain shot through my body. I propped myself up and looked around. It was twilight and the temperature started to go down as the sun descended from the sky.
I had never been to this part of the woods. I never knew this lake or this waterfall was here. As the moon began to take the suns place, the shadows of the trees grew darker. The bright, cheery forest that I had known and loved became gloomy, frightening, and unwelcoming. My little dreamland became a nightmare.