MEHVE[dot]COM V15 [Sweet Intoxication] [Christine and the Phantom] [Celebrating One Year of Insanity]

A Thousand Miles in Search of Father

Log One-

Ophelia Housh's Entry

How can I be such a fool? A worthless fool that has killed her own father by a force that she couldn't control. I walked by the lot where our old house used to be. Broken pieces of furniture were still adrift on the ash-blanketed dirt; the silver toilet was still on the far side, standing as if nothing happened to it. I took a few steps, cracking shattered pieces of glass, feeling a broken pain in my tennis shoes. The wind swayed against my amber short hair, it was still uneven from the burns that I received from the fire, burning my ends till they looked like they were chopped off unknowingly. The only room that still remains was Sophie's; well really the closet was still standing up like the proud toilet. Ash was still falling down as if it was snow, how strange since its been two years since the fire.

I landed my hand on the sliding doors that would open to the closet. I closed my eyes shut, trying to remember that day two years ago. The day when I became feeling like an idiot, stupid, worthless, confused, and every possible word that could possibly describe hate.

Sophie was ticked off with Mother after having a fight over Mikako's new sweater that she could use, while Sophie had to use the hand-me-down from me. She cried, screamed, and acted like a wimp to Mother trying to make her buy another. We were on a tight budget, ever since September 11th, we've began getting in a spiral of debts and cuts. I even couldn't pay my own lunch and we were soon going to lose our house because of it. She told me to not tell anyone that she was going to be hiding in the closet, tell Mother and Father that she ran away.

I was sick with the flu, my temperature was up to 103 degrees and I couldn't concentrate on anything. I soon forgot what Sophie told me what to do, which saved the foolish brat's life. After Sophie slammed the closet shut, hearing some giggles of her "great" and "wonderful" plan to teach them a lesson, I fell sound asleep. I woke up, after smelling something ghastly and smelling like burnt Christmas wrapping that you would pitch in the fire. Shoving my feet in my itchy crappy slippers, I was sleepy and tired shuffling to get over towards the door forgetting about Sophie and her hiding spot.

In a split second, the frame of the door fell down and slammed against me pushing me down to the floor. I shrieked in agony as the two hundred pound slab of wood was thrusting in my ribs. Blood was seeping through my pale cherry nightgown. I tried shoving off the wood from me, but nothing was happening. I couldn't feel my hand; the connection of the blood stream was cut off by the wood that was on my chest and the wingspan of my arms. I felt totally useless. The last thing I remembered was hearing a creaking noise and by my curiosity, I looked upwards only to have pieces of debris crash on my face causing me to go into the darkness of being unconscious.

The only next thing that I remembered was being carried out by the dark figure that I recognized as my Father. My eyes were tiny slits as I gazed at the sunshine beaming and cascading the ground. His work shirt was covered in crimson blood and I knew he was the one that got me out of the trap of the wood frame. Tears befallen against the corners of my hazel eyes, I started recalling Sophie hiding inside the closet. She was not outside as I noticed from looking side to side. Father set me inside the ambulance. The last view of my father is so vivid I could see it right now. His cobalt blue eyes gazed upon me, the faint smile that swept on his lips, and the burns he received on his right cheek. I had to tell him.

"Father," I mumbled. I quickly clutched my stomach; a tense feeling of pain resided in there when I was talking. I took in a deep breath and a taste of my saliva and I found my way through the agony and pain to tell him my last words that I'll ever say. "Sophie's in the closet."

Father nodded his head. I never thought he looked so much like a father at the time that my eyes widened. I soon was covered with the doctors and nurses trying to bandage up my wound on my stomach. Once the doctors and nurses had scurried away and after ten minutes of recapping of what happened, I pushed myself up.

"He's DEAD?" cried my elder sister, Mikako.

"Who's dead?" I pondered as I leaned over trying to get a better view of the scene. I took my hands away from the wound and then stared at them trying to wipe off the smeared scarlet blood. I then stopped by the cries of Mikako sobbing. I glimpse again at the scene; I wish I didn't do that.

Being carried off by two firemen was the same man that I witnessed thirty minutes before. It was Father and.he was dead from inhaling too much of smoke.

"Father." I whispered to the charred and scarred closet door.

I slid down with my back and subsided in an Indian position. I lifted up my sweater and stroked the red scar that covered my stomach. This place is really where I talked to myself, a place where I felt like I could actually talk and not feel embarrassed nor insecure.

"Do I really love you?" I asked, hitting my head on the back of the wall, gazing up at the indigo sky.

A pigeon soared across the sky, flapping its wings three times and then glide, flapping its wings and then glide-as if his life of flying was a pattern that could easily be found out. The resonating echoes, the voices, were coming back to me. I clasped my head, pounding it trying to get out the voices that I heard. It was voices of Father and I fighting over things.

"You don't love me!" I cried.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" I screamed.

"How could you be my 'Father'?" I muttered.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I shrilled, digging in my fingertips in my scalp. "I don't care about this! Leave me alone! Just leave me! PLEASE!"

"Ophelia, I just need you to help me control this mission of life, not you as a daughter."

"THEN RUN AWAY LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!"

"We don't need any use of cowards nor foolish idiots to be here."

How could he be my own father? He's always hated me and brought his work ahead of me. He loves Sophie and Mikako, but being the oddball of the family he hates me. Why? Why did you hate me? Why did you save me, Father? You didn't even support us! You cared about your scientific and spy ways, didn't you? After September 11th, your work has become more hectic than normal with trying to capture Osama Bin Laden and other terrorists. I'm so confused after you saved me from the burning hell that was once our home. Do I love you? Or do I hate you?

"Please...help me," I whimper. Crystal tears were filling the corners of my eyes. Furious and filled with sorrow at the same time, I started screaming out my soul to the sky believing I was talking to God. "I hate you! I hate Father! I hate Mother! I hate Sophie! I hate Mikako! I hate everybody! I hate people! But most of all, I hate myself!"

I brought my legs up to my chest in a fetal position, sobbing and soaking my school uniform skirt.

Log Two

Sophie Housh's Entry

School was out...all I could say was, "HALLELUJAH!" once I usually would skip down the cement steps of Stevenson Elementary School. But right now, I couldn't. Instead of my usual hyper self skipping with uncontrollable happiness, I hobbled down the steps and then tripping on my face over one of the backpacks that was still on the steps while a girl in my fourth grade class was tying her shoelace. My books and assignments were scattered everywhere, I felt ashamed that I couldn't even own a backpack because it was too much of money for Mother to pay. We lost everything in the fire; the only things that survived were some photos that had burnt edges, a few dollars that were in my Mother's pocket at the time, and the clothes on our backs. It was dreadful.

I was one of those loners that usually didn't know what to do when things came abound like this. I had no friends for two years, ever since I became cold because my father had died. I cover my guilt with spunk and a serious attitude problem, well, I always had the attitude problem as Mikako has told me numerous of times. I was always bullied after I teased Jeremy at school because of his new backpack that was a light blue, a blue that most girls would giggle and scream with glee to own. But today, I went too far as I have to spend a week's detention next week because of my loud and abusive behavior. But my father was like that and he was loved by my mother, so can I be loved back by doing that or not?

I quickly picked up my school supplies and stuffed them in the Fry's grocery bag that Miss Humphrey gave me. She always feels sorry for our family; she even offered my mother some food, but my mother thinks she's just doing it for extra pay. Yep, extra pay. I gave a quick defiant stare at Norma, the girl that tripped me with her backpack and shuffled on the sidewalk.

My head turned to the right and then left. I quickly "hop stepped" over towards the other side of the road. I usually would stay on the same side, my house would be two blocks away from there, but I wanted to visit my old home.

The home I burnt down to a crisp, well I really didn't burn it. No one knows till this day who burnt the house down. I was the one who was so stubborn and ignorant, that I killed my father. My abusive father to his death because I was hiding in the closet. I know he was abusive to Ophelia, Mikako, and I, but I still felt guilt for killing another human being that still thrived to live. I don't want to remember that day, so I tried remembering my own father. But today, once I came out of my bed, I squeezed my eyes shut visualizing a man with a burly face and a cigar that was always popped inside his mouth. But there was nothing. No figure, no face, not even a slight showing of how neither his fingers nor his eyes looked like. I had forgotten about him. But I hastily saved myself by going to the last family photo album with ten pictures of Father. He was still there and I remember still a little bit of how he smelled of a drifting old smoke from his cigar. Thank God.

I shambled over towards the remains of our house where we asked to not have it cleared away. A distant teenage girl figure was sitting right by the leftovers of the closet. She was sitting in Indian position with a cross but blank look in her eyes. I took a step forward only to find out it was her.

"Ophelia!" I cried scampering over towards her, not caring of the prickles of glass embedding in my worn out sneakers.

I knelt down by my sister's mesmerized body. She didn't even go to school, she skipped it. Oooh, Mama is going to scold her badly. But how come she was in such a trance that I couldn't make her body budge or even twitch? The only thing I knew what to do was to slap her.

My nimbly hand outstretched to their full extent and whapped her quickly wishing she would snap out of it. But I feared, as I just would always fear, she screamed at me for being such an idiot.

Ophelia gave a quick staggering glare and then her eyes wavered towards her palms. She stared at it and groaned.

"Bl-lood, blood!" hollered Ophelia. She started rubbing her palms together in an insane torment.

"Sister, there isn't anything on your hands," I said angrily. I clutched her right hand quickly trying to make her stop from rubbing her clean hands together.

"Stop it, Sophie!" screamed Ophelia. With her left hand she slapped me in the right eye and with my reflexes, clinched it tightly feeling trickles of blood and a fierce pulse. My attitude went too far and with my left eye I gave her a stare of anger but confusion. Ophelia soon looked at what she had done to her little sister and inhaled a deep breath.

"Sophie." she murmured.

Before she could finish her sentence, her lips wobbled, her eyebrows tilted the other way, water was rushing up the corners of her eyes and she let it all go. Beads of tears drifted down her cheek. She stuffed her face in my chest and I allowed her to do it. In the middle of her stifled cries and moans, she was whimpering to be forgiven. After her bawling, she brought me home by holding each other's hands as every older sister and young sister should do. How depressing.

Entry Three

Mikako Housh's Log

Walking back to my room, I halted by Sophie's tiny claw like hands tugging me towards Ophelia's room. There were some faint crying that I heard, but I thought it was nothing; probably just the dog or something. But I was wrong. It was Ophelia, my young sister that I care for, ever since the fire of 2001 when she was still twelve- years-old. Mother believes she fell into a deep depression, but how could that be possible? But, I've never really noticed her before the fire. I was more busy of other things, including trying to get away from Father as soon as possible so I wouldn't be slapped for the D's nor F's for my algebra's test. I was so insecure of my Father; I tried to cover up by confidence. I'm scarred for life ever since Father died. I even prayed to God for him to die the night before the fire, and then.he died. My self is so ashamed of it, that now I bring over powering confidence to cover the scars that I've gotten from Father acting as if I was the leader and everyone obey me. I gazed at my right arm, seeing the red gash from my father's harsh slapping, really some scratches, but it was the last slap and punch that I got from my Father the night before the fire. Its seems I was born with skin like that because I've had it for two years and it still hasn't disappeared. I peeped over in Ophelia's room and there she was. Hiding in a curled ball trying to be protected from life.

"Pathetic," I murmured.

I took a few paces towards the young teenager and outstretched my hand to her head. She slapped my hand away, amazingly without showing her own face.

"Get away from me!" she shrilled in her pillow, desperate to be away from people even from her sisters.

"You better do that, sister," piped up Sophie.

I looked at the bandages wrapped around her eye. Little blots of blood were seeping through, and around the bandage was a blue- blackish bruise. As I gawked at the wound my little baby sister received, I gulped in the saliva and chose my move.

"Ophelia," I said in a gentle voice.

"No."

"Ophelia, c'mon," I whined.

"Shut up, leave me alone," she grumbled.

"If you're not going to listen to me then.then," I was stuttering afraid she was going to pop up and become that little girl in the movie the "Exorcist". God have mercy. I did a silent prayer, hoping she wouldn't stab me and seized her arm.

I pulled her out of my room, her limp body obediently following me. She was being a pathetic little girl, why should I help her? Probably it was my everlasting love for her that made me do it. I brought her out towards the forest that was in our backyard. Sophie followed, curious to see what I was going to say to her. I gave an eye-piercing glare to Sophie and she nodded her head, frightened if I was going to call Mother. My hands that were placed on Ophelia's shoulders were suddenly vibrating as if I was on those cheap massage motel beds. My eyes slowly wandered over towards Ophelia's face, hidden by her long bangs. The only thing that I saw was dribbles of tears coming down and touching the sticks and dirt of the forest floor. I knelt down and made her face look at me.

"Look at me," I ordered.

"N-no," she stuttered. I heaved out a sigh and gently pushed her chin up with my two fore fingers. Her face was a cherry red and puffy, especially her eyes; they seemed so.so.innocent.

"What's wrong?" I questioned.

Ophelia eyed my hands on her shoulders and I sensed what she wanted. I instantly took away my hands from her shoulders. She collapsed on the ground and sat there, her head down. She finally looked up slowly at me, her eyes were burrowing with tears, but her eyebrows jutting forward.

"Mikako.why are worrying about me?" whispered Ophelia. "Are you trying to make a good impression on Mother or Father in Heaven?"

"Heh, kind of surprising isn't it," I snorted. I knew I was acting rude, but I just felt like having some power. I needed to cover up my sorrow for her. I was not a wimp.like her.

"Hate, I only feel hate for you," she stammered. "Why do I only feel hate?"

I didn't understand what she was saying. Then I thought of how rude I was, and how strange it was for me to be caring a lot more for her lately. I never noticed her, as I've said before.

"I feel hate for Father, and even for Mother," she mumbled. "She made us be living in the ghetto, why do I have to? What have I done wrong? And why the hell are you worrying about me?"

"Because I'm your older sister." I began. She flinched, and I stopped before I could continue on my reason.

"But I now I'm so confused if I either loved Father or not.Mikako, you wouldn't understand my feelings. You never even been saved by someone and then they're killed in a split second. Hate is inside of me, that's why I'm depressed, an-and I can't get out of it. I don't want to continue on living if I only have hate reside in myself. I want to find out once and for all, that I loved Father or not."

"I can't answer for you," I replied quickly.

"And that's why I'm annoyed with you trying to help me out!" she cried furiously. She grabbed my shoulders and embedded her fingertips in me, her nails digging in me.

"I only can tell you that you loved your Father, but you also hated him! That's the way life works! You love and hate everything, you love and hate yourself, and it's just like following the ying- yang!" I screamed at her trying to pry out her fingertips from my shoulder. Ophelia silenced and her touch softened until the extent she finally released her fingers from my shoulder blade.

"Is that what I've been searching for?" she questioned, looking down at the ground.

"I dunno."

"Sophie!" Ophelia gently called. Sophie came swinging out of a tree and jumped down. "Its alright now, you don't have to be frightened."

Ophelia gave a thin smile and Sophie grinned back.

"Whoa, Ophelia is bipolar," I thought.

Ophelia and Sophie were both climbing up the God Tree that was the tallest one in Bewildered Forest. I followed, feeling proud that I finally solved Ophelia's problem. We both sat on the branches, Sophie's legs swinging, Ophelia apologizing for the scratches I received and the wound that Sophie got on her eye, and I was gazing up at the heavens imaging Father watching over us, probably having some beer. I giggled at the thought and stared at Ophelia smiling that Sophie forgave her.

"All is good, I guess," sighed Sophie. "I never thought a day could be as crazy as this, especially with Ophelia's problems."

Ophelia twitched.

"Fine," she huffed. "Do you think I'm that ignorant, Mikako?"

I didn't reply. My eyes were fixated on the stars.

"Goodnight, Father," I thought.

----

A/N: This was a short story assignment we had to do in our seventh grade Language Arts class. Anyways, I was the only one that got a 100% on this assignment in Period One. It goes close to heart, however I do love my father. But this is entirely a story that is very dark yet has a life lesson in the end. ^_^

A Thousand Miles in Search of Father

Log One-

Ophelia Housh's Entry

"He's DEAD?" cried my elder sister, Mikako.

Being carried off by two firemen was the same man that I witnessed thirty minutes before. It was Father and.he was dead from inhaling too much of smoke.

"Father." I whispered to the charred and scarred closet door.

"Do I really love you?" I asked, hitting my head on the back of the wall, gazing up at the indigo sky.

"You don't love me!" I cried.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" I screamed.

"How could you be my 'Father'?" I muttered.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I shrilled, digging in my fingertips in my scalp. "I don't care about this! Leave me alone! Just leave me! PLEASE!"

"Ophelia, I just need you to help me control this mission of life, not you as a daughter."

"THEN RUN AWAY LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!"

"We don't need any use of cowards nor foolish idiots to be here."

"Please.help me," I whimper. Crystal tears were filling the corners of my eyes. Furious and filled with sorrow at the same time, I started screaming out my soul to the sky believing I was talking to God. "I hate you! I hate Father! I hate Mother! I hate Sophie! I hate Mikako! I hate everybody! I hate people! But most of all, I hate myself!"

I brought my legs up to my chest in a fetal position, sobbing and soaking my school uniform skirt.

Log Two

Sophie Housh's Entry

School was out.all I could say was, "HALLELUJAH!" once I usually would skip down the cement steps of Stevenson Elementary School. But right now, I couldn't. Instead of my usual hyper self skipping with uncontrollable happiness, I hobbled down the steps and then tripping on my face over one of the backpacks that was still on the steps while a girl in my fourth grade class was tying her shoelace. My books and assignments were scattered everywhere, I felt ashamed that I couldn't even own a backpack because it was too much of money for Mother to pay. We lost everything in the fire; the only things that survived were some photos that had burnt edges, a few dollars that were in my Mother's pocket at the time, and the clothes on our backs. It was dreadful.

"Ophelia!" I cried scampering over towards her, not caring of the prickles of glass embedding in my worn out sneakers.

My nimbly hand outstretched to their full extent and whapped her quickly wishing she would snap out of it. But I feared, as I just would always fear, she screamed at me for being such an idiot.

Ophelia gave a quick staggering glare and then her eyes wavered towards her palms. She stared at it and groaned.

"Bl-lood, blood!" hollered Ophelia. She started rubbing her palms together in an insane torment.

"Sister, there isn't anything on your hands," I said angrily. I clutched her right hand quickly trying to make her stop from rubbing her clean hands together.

"Sophie." she murmured.

Entry Three

Mikako Housh's Log

"Pathetic," I murmured.

I took a few paces towards the young teenager and outstretched my hand to her head. She slapped my hand away, amazingly without showing her own face.

"Get away from me!" she shrilled in her pillow, desperate to be away from people even from her sisters.

"You better do that, sister," piped up Sophie.

"Ophelia," I said in a gentle voice.

"No."

"Ophelia, c'mon," I whined.

"Shut up, leave me alone," she grumbled.

"Look at me," I ordered.

"N-no," she stuttered. I heaved out a sigh and gently pushed her chin up with my two fore fingers. Her face was a cherry red and puffy, especially her eyes; they seemed so.so.innocent.

"What's wrong?" I questioned.

"Mikako.why are worrying about me?" whispered Ophelia. "Are you trying to make a good impression on Mother or Father in Heaven?"

"Heh, kind of surprising isn't it," I snorted. I knew I was acting rude, but I just felt like having some power. I needed to cover up my sorrow for her. I was not a wimp.like her.

"Hate, I only feel hate for you," she stammered. "Why do I only feel hate?"

I didn't understand what she was saying. Then I thought of how rude I was, and how strange it was for me to be caring a lot more for her lately. I never noticed her, as I've said before.

"I feel hate for Father, and even for Mother," she mumbled. "She made us be living in the ghetto, why do I have to? What have I done wrong? And why the hell are you worrying about me?"

"Because I'm your older sister." I began. She flinched, and I stopped before I could continue on my reason.

"I can't answer for you," I replied quickly.

"And that's why I'm annoyed with you trying to help me out!" she cried furiously. She grabbed my shoulders and embedded her fingertips in me, her nails digging in me.

"Is that what I've been searching for?" she questioned, looking down at the ground.

"I dunno."

"Sophie!" Ophelia gently called. Sophie came swinging out of a tree and jumped down. "Its alright now, you don't have to be frightened."

Ophelia gave a thin smile and Sophie grinned back.

"Whoa, Ophelia is bipolar," I thought.

"All is good, I guess," sighed Sophie. "I never thought a day could be as crazy as this, especially with Ophelia's problems."

Ophelia twitched.

"Fine," she huffed. "Do you think I'm that ignorant, Mikako?"

I didn't reply. My eyes were fixated on the stars.

"Goodnight, Father," I thought.

----