Memories Of My Life - Original Writing

Seven years earlier, I migrated to Hawaii when I was twenty-three. I had flown away from my mother and my life in the Philippines. Like young adults and being rebellious, I wanted to live on my own away from my mother 's roof. I left the city life I grew up with in the Philippines in hope of a better life in another country.

“Yeah, Liam, we got it.” Logan replies, and helps me scoop the cookies onto a plate. I walk them out to the counter of the unopened bakery. It’s supposed to open at seven, so in five minutes, but it might be opening ten or so minutes late because Logan and I still have to finish the bread and cookies. “Hey Krisha, I’ll deal with the food if you want to make sure everything out there is ready.” Logan calls from the back room.

The place was deserted, the only other customers a young couple in a corner booth. I sit in a corner booth of my own and flip through the menu, but nothing seemed appetizing. When the time comes I end up ordering a cup of coffee from the college-age looking boy who then takes my menu and promises to be back in a minute with my caffeine-filled goodness. I trace patterns on the smooth table as I look out the window, enjoying the clear view of the full moon.

The door rings. Fared and Sumeyah wake up. Fared opens the door. A mid 20s SERVICE GUY brings the breakfast.

The bell at the top of the door chimes as it closes behind him. Penny wipes her hands on her apron when she emerges from the kitchen, pockets the bills, and begins to open the blinds to the diner. Sunlight streams in, and Penny winces, squinting just as a car slams into a man crossing the street carrying a briefcase and checking his

Although it seemed too hot to wear an additional jacket on top of a suit, the man didn’t seem bothered. I glanced around the diner and noticed the lack of decorations; it was abnormal for a little diner not to dress up the place. The little girl was still a mystery to me. The couple had just recently come in so I knew they weren't the little girl’s parents, and the business man was obviously not associated with the child. There had been a boy in his twenties tending the counter, but he had disappeared into the back long ago when his service wasn't needed anymore.

He took a bit of his cereal “Dad. We are friends.” Rob looked down at his phone “Good because if she was your girlfriend, she wouldn’t be in the same house as you.” Tomas rolled his eyes “I don’t see what the big deal would be with that.” Just as Rob was going to say something, I came downstairs; I sat next to Rob, he looked at me “Do you drink coffee? Or want some breakfast? I could make some eggs and toast.”

Growing up, I was the kid who never wanted to go home. Instead I would spend all my time after school at my friend’s houses until it got dark and I had to be home for bed. My house was never one where you wanted to invite your friends over to. My house was one where you never knew if it was going to be a good night. Or one where you had to tone out the screaming match that my parents were having. Growing up in this type of house was rough. I am thankful that my parents were not physically abusive towards each other or towards me. Though the emotional abuse that we all suffered was just as damaging.

Every night I’m haunted by my worst memory/memories. I’ve been haunted by them for a year and six months.

Every day starts the same… seemingly insignificant. You wake up and you follow a certain routine, preparing for the day ahead. Just like any other day I woke up or should I say was woken up by my dad, for I was only seven years old. Looking back at this point in my life it all is very unclear and fuzzy, still young and naïve, all the days morph into one. This day however, was unlike any other day. This day is burned into my memory. My dad, like every single other morning, walked into me and my sister’s bedroom and pulled off the covers from our bed because nothing wakes you up faster than sudden rush of cool air on a November morning. My sister and I trudged to the kitchen where our dinosaur egg hot cereal was awaiting our arrival. Something about that moment, sitting there in my house, a very typical morning stays clear and bold in my mind. It seemed so normal, but at the same time so distant. A moment so typical, but how long does normal remain normal? Breakfast was followed by getting changed for school and then the trip to school. The school day sped by, no different than any other, but the knowledge of a playdate with my best friend after school took up the majority of my thoughts. The bell rang and we lined up, ready to head home. We walked down the hill to my mother, ready to pick us up and bring us back to my house. The excitement could not be contained and the car was filled with innocent and unaware giggles, for the worst thing that could ever happen would be the

I wake up to the smell of grass, the rustling leaves and the sound of nature. As I open my eyes I can see the clouds moving through the sky while I lay on the ground.

We were a normal family of four at first. It was my mom, dad, brother and I. We lived in a little adobe house that they made themselves. I was their first child, the oldest of two. I was born in Mexico and life there seemed simple, but as a child I couldn’t really tell when things weren’t. Things were pretty normal the first four years of my life, I was about to go to school in Mexico and I spent a lot of time with my dad and family. I was really close with my dad, we would go out together a lot, he had a bunch of CD’s in his car and he would play one and we’d sing together, and he would make me breakfast in the mornings while I watched morning cartoons. He was basically my role model in my early days, it was nice too, I really enjoyed it.

Now, lemme tell you about this one thing I experienced...three years ago. Still haunts my memory. I used to work as a mortician. A person whom works to dissect bodies to either prepare the bodies for an autopsy, or for a burial. Of course, I was only a helper, passing tools. To of which begins my story.

"Owen!" My mother yelled at me as I came down the stairs, as if I 'd done something seriously wrong. My mind raced as I tried to recall everything I had done in the past weeks.

I sprinted. I sprinted until my lungs burned, and my legs just couldn’t move anymore. I began to quiver with exhaustion. I knew he was still back there. Somewhere, hiding with his knife. Watching. I’d barely escaped with my life, he knew it and I knew it. I knew he was still on to me. Waiting until the perfect moment for when I wasn’t quite paying enough attention. He’d catch me off guard. I peer around, looking for a quick escape route through the tall dark trees. Granted, I could hide, but I’m terrified that he’ll find me, and I’ll have no chance to run.