I love laughing. I love the feeling of happiness. Not hyper-active happiness. Thoughtful happiness. I like it a lot. I try to have fun. I try to forget my past, and a lot of the time I do ok. I can lose myself in the laughter. But little things can set my memory into reverse. I get flash backs. And then I can’t laugh. At all. I was raped when I was three. But it doesn’t matter to me, because I don’t see there’s a lot I can do about it now.
It’s the flashbacks that bother me. My earliest memory is of burying a dead baby. My sister. Once again I was three. I can still shut my eyes and see her perfectly formed day-old body. Her translucent skin and bold blue veins, still vivid to this day. I don’t know how she died and I daren’t ask. I just remember the secrecy. The way I couldn’t tell a soul. It hurts. To think of my parents as killers, but then I feel stupid to even contemplate it. I mean, they can’t be. But what else would explain it? I also remember the dog. He chased me around a well, and dug up the make-shift grave. He held my sister in his mouth. She was so small. Her name was Francis.
But that’s in the past, so why can’t I forget? It shouldn’t matter anymore. I have other brothers and a sister. My elder brother remembers things, but we don’t often talk. He was thrown out a year ago. He lives alone in a filthy flat. I sometimes skip school to visit him. He’s so lonely. He’s just 17.
My mum’s a dealer. She has a 7 week old baby to care for, and she’s a fucking dealer. I hate it. But what can I do? Ignore it and laugh seems to be the best option. I pity my little brother. He’s so innocent, just as I once was. I don’t want that to change. I want him to be happy. To laugh freely.
More than anything, I want have fun. Which I do, but it never lasts long. Why can’t I just forget this shit? My memory is my worst enemy. It can’t fucking leave me alone.
I want to laugh.