Isosceles Triangle

3 > orphaned at fault

I take a second to ponder my deep hoard of haunting remembrance . I haven't been fully able to recall most of my memories that occurred before I was seven. Most were just little things like seeing my parents fight or me fighting with Twist. I even remember my parents taking Dare with them when they met up with the gang. Some brief clips of other members "babysitting" Twist and I when our parents were too drunk and Dare wasn't home. But those weren't the deep reminiscence Nurse Kaitlyn was asking for.

My earliest memory is quite gruesome.

It was a really late and hectic night at our house. My parents must have had a stressful day with Back Stabs because the first thing they did when they arrived back home was swallow a gallon or two of beer. They were very irritable about God-knows-what and screaming at each other over every little thing. Dare tried to calm the situation but a little too forcefully, and he received his  first clock to the face from our dad. Dare was enraged, so he took it out on Twist and I. Thankfully, I was smart enough to stay away from him. I think one glance at him would set him off into a violent rampage.

He took after our Dad.

I sheltered myself in a linen closet during his rampage. It was the only place I felt safe in. Twist, being the dummy he is, chose to hang around  and poke the bear with a stick. I chose not to watch what Dare did to Twist.

It's hard to remember everything that went on in the five hours I was in the closet. The memory is a bit hazy at that point. I do remember it being pitch black with only a thin, vertical line of light peaking through the cracked door. Breathing was a bit difficult; I sucked in at least eighty percent dust and twenty percent alcohol fumes. All I could hear were shouts from my parents and glass bottles shattering.

I remember how they screamed until their voices gave out. It was around eleven at night when their arguing got way more intense and pretty ridiculous. They were so drunk that they argued over the stupidest things. They argued about who left the stove on, cat breeds, some of the members in the gang, hell, they even argued about who the weather man on TV was. The last thing I heard them argue about was Twist and I.

Hearing our names drew my attention to their argument. I peaked through the crack to watch the chaos unfold.

"Why do think Twist and Knuckles could fit in this gang?" my dad shouted, slurring a bit.

"They have potential in our gang!" my mom argued back. "They just need to get used to it."

"Face it, Scar: Knuckles and Twist aren't meant for this gang. They should've gotten used to it already. Look at our golden boy, Dare. He's gotten used to it already. In fact, he's been used to it since he was six. Twist and Knuckles are seven, and they have no tough bone in their body."

"Oh, have faith in Twist and Knuckles, you worthless scum. They're just slow learners. They'll get with the program soon. Not everyone is like Dare," my mom shouted. Not even a second later, a beer bottle was chucked towards my mom at lightning speed. The sound of the glass breaking was ear splitting and it made me jump out of my skin.

"Why couldn't you have aborted them?!" my dad yelled. "We don't need them. They're useless."

"You're so selfish. You won't even give them a chance. You just want them dead."

""As a matter a fact," my dad said, pulling a gun from his back pocket, "I do. Where are they?"

I gasped, my face soaked in tears and heart pounding against my chest like a wild dog trapped in a cage. "No, no, no, no. Dad, please. No," I whispered repeatedly.