Walking Disaster; 2

Barnes and Nobles is my haven. I can sink away into the plush chairs, breathing in the smell of Starbucks, and glue my nose to a book. There in Barnes and Nobles im not Joon Corken, im whoever im reading about. Or im putting myself into a different story, like the ones in my mind. In my immense notebooks.

Joon Corken is a clumsy, intelligent, tough, undercover metal head. She is me. I am Joon Corken. But Joon Corken is beaten, ridiculed, and broken by her mother and sister. Thats a part of me I don’t want to be. That’s something that wouldn’t happen to the Joon Corken who lives in Boston writing away in the daylight that shines through a huge studio window thats flung open to the harbor. Joon Corken the proud walking disaster.

I rummage through the notebooks my hand grazing over each plain book, waiting to be filled with my stories, waiting to become a passage way to a different dimension. I breathe in the smell of Starbucks, pulling my hair back into a bun, bangs a peices left untucked hang around my face. I roll the sleeves of my black hoodie up before examining my pale freckled arms for any visible bruises. I try to fight back trust me. But I just can’t; I go still and pray to die. Pray to anyone or anything that will listen.

Digging deeper the pages brushing up agaisnt my arm, grating into the skin before my hand clasps onto a thick notebook. Pulling it out of the pile, its yellow with a black spiral. It will do.

Run baby, run baby, forever will be...You and me. We the Kings rocked through my headphones as I walked from the mall. It was dark outside only a few cars idled past. The cold air wrapped its self around me. Sinking into my knees. My heart thudded as I swung my bag holding my notebook. I shifted my hood up further. My converse slapping the pavement matching my heartbeat. It wasnt the music. It was the war I had to face at home. I braced myself, turning on to my block. A breeze smelled of new laid tar glided across the darkened street alerting my senses. My back throbbed as I passed under a street light. My house was light up, my sisters red Element sat in the driveway. From the outside my house might look warm and inviting to any other person. But for me it would be entering a new battle field with no where to run.

I pushed the door open. It smelled of a Lipton tea. Warmth wrapped it self around me fighting back the outside cold. My house was always cold. To me at least. Closing the door it clicked with finality. If I could make it to the stairs, just the stairs. Taking a step forward I saw her. I saw both of them. My mom her bleached hair down, in her pajamas. The one she got for christmas, the soft one with the blue clouds. I was 10. My family was still whole. Her face was daring me to make another move. It was twisted with anger, her eyes rimmed red. Had she been drinking? Her face and posture matched Stephanie who stood behind her.

The wall met my face with a loud smack. I crumpled to the floor pain riveting through my body. "Insult my daughter!?" She barked, the reek of wine in her sweaty breath. If I could just curl up. I don’t want to be Joon anymore. I want a new life. The wall pressed agaisnt my temple. It was cool. Not soothing. The carpet felt like razors to my body. Her breath like Zyklon B. Bleeding from the inside out. Run baby run.... I heard the soft chuckle of Stephanie from behind her. Her foot covered in her pink fuzzy slippers, her birthday. October 19 2006, Family falling apart. Slammed into my stomach I could feel myself urged to throw up my insides.

"Answer me dammit!" Her breath hotter now. I began to lose my sight. Her angry face, the walls, the staircase blurring. The stairs. The stairs.

I had no answer for her. It wouldn’t matter. I let out a incoherent gurgle. Stairs, Run baby run... I curled up I don’t want to be Joon anymore. Where is God? Where is anyone? Where am I? The wall turns to flames the razors slice into me. "Your room you peice of trash!"

Stairs...Room... I grip my notebook. I drag my body up the stairs, like a man climbing Mount Everest without an air mask. My crawl into my room, tossing the notebook on my computer chair. I kick the door shut. It slams with a loud empty echo. Pulling myself onto my bed I sigh breathing in the only air I can breathe. I bury my head into the softness of my pillow, sinking away into the darkness of the night. I survived once again. Joon the walking disaster.

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