A Queens return

With a heavy heart...

The car rolled to a stop in front of the small, dilapidated apartment building, and a heavy sense of dread settled over me like a suffocating shroud. I peered out the window at our new home, my heart sinking at the sight before me.

The building loomed before us, its once-white exterior now streaked with grime and mold. The windows were clouded with dirt, and the paint peeled away in curling strips, revealing the decaying wood beneath. It was a heavy contrast to the grandeur of our previous home, a bitter reminder of the life we had left behind.

As we stepped out of the car and approached the entrance, the smell of mildew hung heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of neglect. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Inside, the apartment was even worse than I had feared. The walls were stained with water damage, the plaster crumbling away in places to reveal the rotting beams beneath. The floors were warped and uneven, creaking ominously with each step we took.

My parents exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring my own sense of dismay. But instead of acknowledging the dismal state of our new home, they launched into a fresh round of complaints, their voices echoing off the bare walls.

"I can't believe we have to live in this dump," my mother muttered, her voice tinged with bitterness. "It's bad enough that we had to leave everything behind, but now we have to suffer in this hellhole?"

My father's response was a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know, Martha," he said, his voice heavy with resignation. "But it's all we can afford right now. We'll make it work somehow."

But my mother was having none of it, her frustration boiling over into anger. "Make it work?" she snapped, her voice rising with each word. "How are we supposed to make this work, Frank? There's barely enough room for all of us, let alone any of our belongings!"

I watched in silence as they argued, the familiar sense of helplessness washing over me like a tidal wave. I knew that there was nothing I could say to make things better, nothing I could do to ease the burden of their discontent.

Instead, I retreated to the small, cramped room that was to be mine, the walls closing in around me like a prison cell. I sank onto the threadbare mattress, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders.

Outside the window, the ravens circled overhead, their dark forms a silent reminder of the freedom I so desperately longed for. But even they seemed to sense the despair that hung heavy in the air, their caws mournful and mournful.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to block out the sounds of my parents' argument, the sight of our dismal surroundings. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't escape the crushing weight of reality. So I decided to flop on the bed and rest for a bit.

A crashing sound echoed through the apartment like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile peace that had settled like glass. My heart leaped into my throat as I bolted upright, the screams of my parents mingling with my own panicked thoughts.

Without hesitation, I leaped from my bed and sprinted out of my room, my instincts screaming at me to flee. I couldn't bear the thought of getting caught in the crossfire of my parents' rage, of becoming collateral damage in their never-ending war.

As I burst into the living room, the scene before me was like something out of a nightmare. My mother cowered in the corner, her hands raised in a feeble attempt to shield herself from my father's wrath. He loomed over her, his face twisted with rage as he brandished a broken vase like a weapon.

I wanted to scream, to intervene somehow, but my body refused to obey. Fear paralyzed me, locking my limbs in place as I watched the horror unfold before my eyes.