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Devil Me, Angel One Day On
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TITLE (EDIT)
Devil Me, Angel One Day On
DESCRIPTION
A short story.
[883 words]
AUTHOR
Ana Lucia Mora
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
-
[April 2000]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (2)
Poem Analysis (Essays) An essay. [807 words]
Sadness (Poetry) A poem. [123 words]
Devil Me, Angel One Day On
Ana Lucia Mora

“Devil me, Angel one day on”
By: Ana Lucia Mora M. 8-B

Finally, after walking around for hours, I’ve reached the right spot. Here, where I gave the first peek of this world filled with surprises. On this exact place, I can feel the force of the day my old lady laid on this sand, suffering until the last painful scream that exploded into a sigh of happiness, when she gave birth to me. That very first night as a human being, I never stopped crying, and my folks didn’t know what to do. The first glimpse of suffering started for them at that moment.
When I was 5, they sent me to kindergarten, where I did nothing but bother and be mean to all the other kids. Teachers kept complaining about me, and my folks talked to me, but I ignored their speeches. I never changed, for my folks never did anything that would definitely make me learn, they loved me too much to make me learn the hard way. That’s why before I was 7, I had already been expelled from one school, and only because they said I was the one that didn’t let all the other kids learn.
In the 6th grade, I was put in a private school where very well dressed and mannered children went. That year I kind of started being polite, but everyone kept wanting me to be better, so they kept telling me, “Elizabeth, tuck your shirt in”, “Remember with which fork you need to eat what”, or “Comb your hair right”. All of those were driving me crazy, so I exploded and did something not even I could believe it, I shaved my head bald. It made me feel so great, like I never again had to do anything they wanted me to do. I felt free. However, that crappy school didn’t permit it, and again, I was out of education.
My parents did everything to help me and they suffered, by they couldn’t deal with me anymore, and they decided to send me to a boarding school. I didn’t want to go to a place where I would have to follow again the same kind of useless rules, so I threatened them by saying I would suicide. I even tried it once by cutting my wrists a little, to show them they had to please me. They were so scared I could try it again, they forgot the idea of sending me to a foreign country, but I had to go to a psychologist. Those 2 days in that white office were hell, and they made me more insane than ever. The first day, Dr. Polken kept reminding me all my problems, and everything she said never helped me analyze my life and realize I should become better. They only made me mad because that way she was telling me I was a bad person. This appointment made me feel I needed to challenge authority I didn’t agree with, so the next day I didn’t talk to her. I only spoke once when she asked me, “Elizabeth, what’s bothering you today?”, and I answered, ”YOU”. I never went back to that stupid office again, they couldn’t make me do something I didn’t like.
When I became 15, I started hanging out with guys of my own style. They went to the same public school I did and we all dressed and behaved in the same way. Every day I had escape from my house so I could go with them to the parties where I could have a fake I.D., dance the way I wanted, and smoke and drink as much as I wanted. The whole 3 months I did it every night were so much fun, until one day when we all got so drunk, the police arrested us and called our parents. I couldn’t go out ever since, I just had to hang out at home.
I was tired of staying at home, doing nothing. Alcohol then became my best friend. That was the only way I wouldn’t become lonely. I felt great when I drank it, screaming, running, and doing anything I wanted at home. I noticed my old lady crying without being able to stop whenever I lost control, but I thought she was just ridiculous and exaggerating. I thanked god my old man wasn’t there with her whenever she started with her act, or else he would start with his’ of giving me the infinite speeches that alcohol is bad for me.
It is not until this moment, when I feel the wet sand under my bare feet, that I notice how much suffering I caused my folks, my parents. They, who gave life to me, loved me, and always took care of me no matter what. It is only now that I have realized this. Today when those people who most loved me have died. The only ones who ever really cared for me, my real friends. I blame myself for their painful death and wanting to make it all better for them and change, I say, “Devil me, Angel one day on”, while throwing the last bottle of alcohol I will ever touch, to the deep and dark ocean.

 

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2000 Ana Lucia Mora
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
April 2000
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1679
 

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