Letting go of the past is hard, as well as escaping your fate. Even then, it is possible to start anew...
They say that opportunity comes only once but, the truth is that it comes and goes constantly throughout one’s life. It gives us a chance to either make things better or to mess it up completely, but without it we would be stuck with the same circumstances all the time and there would be no way to change it. Opportunity is something like luck or chance; you have to be at the right place at the right time for it to work.
This happened to me a lot.
Some people are so distracted to notice and miss out. But, when opportunity comes knocking on my door, it wasn’t usually for my benefit. It often worked the other way around and a lot of ill-fated events often happened to me and I was usually left crippled from its wake. I guess that it was just luck that put me in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I shall start off when I was really young and I lost all faith in everything. It was simple: my mother had died and my father had stopped caring for both me and him. I didn’t really care about him, he had taken out his anger on me so many times that I kicked myself out of the house.
It was a pitiful sight, our house. It was nothing more than an old shack on the crappy side of the city. We never really had that much money and whatever we had made, my father had spent it on himself. We could never afford repairs for that leaking roof, not even the stupid grass would grow in our yard.
Long after I would have run away, I would’ve had come back to the very same place that I hated. I hated living here so much. If I was lucky, my father would be asleep and I could just sneak past him. Sometimes I would steal from the fool’s wallet. I thought that it was the least that he deserved for what he did to me, I was so banged up that I even had trouble sneaking around our house without making a sound. Something always hurt; sometimes it hurts in places that I don’t even remember being beaten in. I knew that my left arm had broken a long time ago thanks to my dad and since he could’ve cared less to have it looked at, it had healed uncomfortably and I can’t make a fist with my hand. Sometimes it gives out when I’m lifting something and it aches when it rains, almost like everything else. My mother had died on a rainy day. It was so long ago that I don’t remember what she died from, I didn’t even miss her. I had no idea what was wrong with me. Maybe I was too young to realize her importance.
Another thing that opportunity haunted me with was the fact that my father had always found out that I had stolen from him. He would always come and find me, and I started to get used to this and not being scared, but he started threatening the use of firearms and now I try to stay away from there as much as I can. I knew that he would be the one to take my life if I wasn’t careful.
The rain drenched to city with its deluge. It rained a lot here, but there was almost none of that overcast silliness where the skies are white for the whole day and it doesn’t rain or shine. Where I happened to be was between these two buildings, in an alley. I wasn’t sure of how much longer I could go on like this. I didn’t like the person I saw in the refection of the water that pooled next to me. I really didn’t think I was gorgeous, especially with these cuts and bruises. My eyes looked vacant and foggy; but their green color would be much appreciated on the eyes of a celebrity. My hair color had become more vibrant ever since I was a kid; the tone was some sort of dark red tint.
I felt a little worn out and was leaning on the building next to me. My vision was blurry and I thought there was redness on the ground before me but I felt so numb that I wasn’t sure if I was bleeding or not. I just felt so weird that I felt that I was drugged.
I felt worthless right now.
Not even my name seemed important anymore.
No one seemed to care anyway; they looked at me as though I were an outcast. They would never realize what I had to go through on daily bases. If I cared more, I could tell them off, but I just didn’t have the energy.
My name is Jaime and I was eighteen. I had been pulled out of school when I was eight, a few days after my mother left us. I sometimes felt that my name didn’t fit me and that I needed another one, but it doesn’t matter. No one gives a damn anyway. I didn’t like to talk out loud and the few friends I had I wasn’t allowed to see anymore. I guess that we couldn’t afford schooling for me anymore, I just don’t know.
The rain kept on falling. Just like me, except I wouldn’t hit the end. I had a feeling that this would last for the rest of my life. But, I was wrong about this and opportunity came in my direction again and I took it, figuring that nothing could be worse than this.