All it takes is a moment to change everything... Mar 4, 2020 7:31:39 GMT
Post by Molly Hatchet on Mar 4, 2020 7:31:39 GMT
As my birthday draws nearer, I find myself drawn more to the drink. Alone on a quiet roof top cradling a bottle of cheap whisky I sat. It's been ten long years since I left Scotland, never to look back. I love the country and it's beautiful splendor, but there is a taint to it in the form of bad memories, bad times, and a ruined childhood. Taking a swig from the bottle, I feel the bite of the alcohol and taste the bitter smoked flavor of it immediately. It was piss swill, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get hammered and forget my troubles for a few minutes. Dull my mind from the pain as it were. Fuck does it rarely work though.
I lay back and stare up at the glittering night sky, letting my mind drift. I was told it was a cold night that seventeenth day of March that I was born in the year of our lord, nineteen ninety-four. An unwanted child of another man who bedded my mother behind the back of my father, an unnamed Welsh sailor he was called. For years I had hoped he would come and save me from the thing that called himself my father. Even now, the name Chadwick Bronnel O'Hatherine put a sickening taste in my mouth even when it was just a thought and nothing more.
My mother was, in a way, more hurtful as she would sit back and let him do whatever he wanted without challenge or question. In silence, she'd watch him drunkenly abuse me. To the eyes of a toddler to even ten years old, he seemed a massive beast of a man with massive fists, greasy jet black hair, and bushy sideburns on a ruddy, weathered and rounded face with a nose that was crooked from being broken in far too many fights. For the first ten years of my life, I would reach out for her, crying my eyes out and begging for help as he beat upon me with those fists. All the pale, thin blond woman would do was look away.
Whenever she did, he'd shout with his thick Irish brogue, "LOOK AND SEE WOT YER SIN DID WROUGHT WOMAN!" His fists would land harder. It wasn't until my thirteenth year of life that I started to laugh at him in wicked mockery, begging him to kill me. I'd land in the hospital unable to speak in such instances, but I didn't care. I wanted to die. No, Chadwick wouldn't let me out that easy and would pay off the local constabularies to turn a blind eye and write stories about me getting into fights in school.
Yet it was my mother, Connie Madeline Hatchet-O'Hatherine who angered me even more than him. At anytime, she could have ended it all. She could've stood up for her own flesh and blood but instead, all I would ever get were sad eyes and the same meek, tired apologies. "A'm sae sorry, dear hert," I'd hear until the last night I ever saw her. My father caught me sneaking in after winning roughly five hundred pounds sterling in a back alley fight with a man almost as big as Chadwick was. I was in no condition to stop him, already beaten down. I was due to turn sixteen in a few days and my plan was to take that money and charter a boat to anywhere that took me away from this painful existence.
Soaked to the bone from the stormy weather I had walked miles of city back alleys with the money in a small black bag, I was halfway through the window when his hand caught my arm and pulled me in before I could even react! I started to get up and his foot went straight to my back, pinning me down as he snatched the bag from my grip.
"Wot's this wee child?" He asked, slowly unzipping it.
"NO! TIS MINE! I EARNED IT!!!" I shouted back.
A stomp to my back had me croaking with pain. Out came the legal tender and I looked up at him, foolishly hoping he might do the right thing this one time. He smiled back at me cruelly and slipped the money out, tossing the bag in my face.
"So ya' go out pickin' strangers pockets fer money then, is that it? Is my child a bloomin' thief?"
"Nay! I beat a man as big n' almos as fawk uglae as ye' are ta' get it!" I spat back with venom.
He reached down and picked me up by the scruff of my neck, lifting me effortlessly off the floor and hurling me across the room! I cried out as I hit the dresser and crumpled to the floor. Wrong choice of words girl, but I didn't care. Either he was going to kill me or I him!
"HA HA HA!!! That's rich wee one," he said with condescension dripping from his deep, rough voice.
I pushed myself up, wracked with pain and muscles aching. Before I knew it, he had me pinned to the wall by the throat with one hand! Slowly he started to choke me right then and there, me battering his wrists and kicking my legs. His arms were thick and long like that of an ape. I couldn't reach his face and in the ravaged state I was already in, I could do little else.
"Ya think ya can fight me? FIGHT ME! COME ON THEN! HA HA HAAAA!!"
He slammed my head against the wall so hard my vision doubled and he leaned in with an evil sneer.
"That's what I thought girlie... as weak as tha' blood that spoiled yer mother and made you!"
I don't know what happened really, I blacked out and when I came to, he was clawing at his eye, screaming bloody murder!
"MY EYE! YA FUCKIN' TRASH CUNT! YA TOOK MY BLOODY FUCKIN' EEEEYYYYEEEE!!!"
Sure enough, in my blood covered hands were an eye that I then tossed upon the floor and with him looking on in horror with his remaining good one, I stomped on it! Chadwick came at me and I thought fast, gathering a stool by my bed up and crashing it across his fucking skull! The stool shattered from the impact. There were tears of pain and joy in my eyes as I gathered a sharpened piece of wood intent on stabbing and murdering the man that brought me so much misery. I trembled as I stood over him, my weapon raised high over my head and ready to be plunged into his heart like a stake to a vampire.
"Stoap!" came a voice from the doorway.
There my mother stood in her night gown, tired and fearful.
"Fur ye'll be in jyle 'n' yer lee wull be ower!" She answered.
"An' why's that a problem? This fawkin' bastard deserves ta' die and prison wonnae' be so bad compared to this life!"
"Na molly. Tak' yer dosh alang wi' this 'n' gang stairt a freish lee!"
She tossed me a small black bag. Out of curiosity, I lowered down to pick it up and opened it to find roughly two thousand pounds sterling.
"Nae anither word! gang afore he wakes up now!"
Gathering up the money, I listened despite every fiber of my being wanting that man dead. Perhaps it was the shock that for once, my mother actually helped me. I'll never know as I never went back. Oddly no one ever came looking for me nor were the authorities called. Perhaps I had damaged my dear father's ego by hurting him in a permanent manner, who's to say? That night, the victim, Molly O'Hatherine was no more. I left home and with only twenty-five hundred pounds sterling in my pocket, I began a new life thereafter that lead me here.
I hated thinking about it, hated the thought of ever going back to Scotland and yet a small part of me is drawn back there. As I said, I loved the country but I fucking hated my family with all my being. You'd think that in ten years time, with the fame and small fortune I've managed, I'd be over this shit but I'm not. Will I ever be free of these memories that haunt me so and taint me even in the good times I have now? Perhaps one day, I'll go back there and put this to bed but today is not that day.
Steadily I had been sipping that whisky the entire time, unaware of how much was still in the bottle. I didn't even realize I had a fairly good buzz going until the last drop hit my tongue and there was no more. With a sigh, I tossed the bottle aside. It wouldn't be until the chill of air aged past the chimes of midnight's call did I finally decide to pick up and climb down the building. Once on foot, I began my trek. I'm sure Cherry would have questions for me being out so late without her. I'll just use sex to shut her up. That always seems to work just grand. I had a brief thought of how my father would react knowing that I had turned out to be of bi-queer persuasion despite his best efforts. This thought brought a small bit of chuckling at the comedy of awkwardness, given his hypocritical staunch Irish-Catholic beliefs. Then the further realization that she's a Satanist really brought the laughter out of me.
No. She'll never meet him. Ever. She doesn't deserve to have someone that low class in her presence.