I Am

by Ahmad Alony

Whenever they look for a retreat after a long stressful day, they look for me, and they feel  comfortable as long as I’m with them, touching them. Every Friday dad, mom and the two kids would congregate around me, showing me their back as their brains absorbed new film scenes.  I’m well looked after every morning when mom pats me and shakes the dust off me, whilst placing me next to my other two companions. If the atmosphere in the living room is bright, the kids would jump on me, share recycled jokes and play their favorite fighting game, and mom and dad would share their favorite piña colada whilst talking about new undiscovered experiences with a Billie Holiday track filling the background. But when the atmosphere is dark, there are no playful  laughs, no toast of glasses, everything is dead. The curtains are shut. Young shouts are heard, mom being dragged to her room by her hair, the door slams and merciless beatings are heard. Screaming notes are heard that make the piña colada glasses vibrate. Dad comes out of the room whilst slamming the door behind him. He then heads to my direction, picks me up and repeatdly punches me to the point where my foamy insides are about to burst. My squared body is then thrown onto the wall and kicked off his sight. I have no say in this. The following morning I am back on there treat, but this time dad is alone. No laughs, just eight beer glasses on the table, and a gun next to me. Dad walks on the carpet, rests his back on me, places me between his gun and the side of his head, and shoots a whole right through me.