Sometimes driving past my old house causes the memories of my past life to dance across the inside of my skull like shadows on a wall. I’m not saying my life is happy by any means, but compared to what happened inside those walls, I would call this peaceful. It’s true, this is about as peaceful as a prison could be. My aunt is about as far from motherly as a person could get but I can’t blame her. She wasn’t really given an option when DCFS dropped me off on her doorstep, being as she is my mother’s only living relative.

Looking back about one year ago, if you would’ve asked me what I wanted in life, I would have answered with a simple "to be normal." I would have elaborated on how my mother was a schizophrenic lacking necessary medication and my brother, Charlie, was an angel who turned his back on the hell we were living in. I'm not saying I don't love my mother, I do. It's just that when she was there it created inevitable chaos. Simple incidents like looking at her, shutting the car door too hard, or talking just a little too loud would cause her to have a fit. These episodes usually lasted for a good half hour, just long enough to shock you and give her time to get in a few swings, then begin crying and holding you. Living in that house forced us to walk around covered in bruises, we resembled a sort of inside out sky with dark stars splattered across a light canvas. I always knew that something was different about my mother but it wasn't until about the age of eleven when I realized how different she really was. It wasn't until then that I started bearing the weight of emotional whiplash on my shoulders.

Six years ago my mother had a good day. After beating me that morning for spilling milk on my shirt, she decided to take my seven year old brother and I to the zoo. We were beyond excited because our mother’s condition had forced us to become what you could call "homebodies." I remember the car ride over. It was actually fun. She sang songs with us and talked about all the candy she was going to buy us once we got there. First mistake of the day, I believed her. I think Charlie did too.

We had been to see the elephants, tigers, monkeys, and hawks. We then took the last final steps to the polar bear enclosure. They were my brother’s absolute favorite. He knew basically everything about them from the library books he checked out every week. My mother was standing behind him and holding onto his sides as he leaned in over the tank so that he wouldn’t fall. I was a few yards away looking at a giant walrus. I felt sorry for the walrus. It was trapped behind a glass wall just as I was trapped behind my mother's madness. I then looked over at my mother, hoping to catch a physical sign of the flaws she buried within, but there wasn’t a single one. She was a tall blonde with strong features and clear blue eyes. There wasn't a thing about her that screamed "Get away from her! She's a monster!" She resembled the sky right before a tornado, beautiful and attention grabbing just up to the point that it tears your heart from your chest. It was what happened next that crushed any sort of hope or faith that I had in my mother. I felt my feet begin running towards where they were standing after hearing her words, "What? You love the polar bears but not your mother! Why don't you go live with them then? You ungrateful burden!" She picked up my brother and began pushing him into the polar bear cage. If I hadn't of grabbed a hold of him...If I hadn't of been there.. Maybe he would of been saved from the fate he endured. Maybe he could've gone to a happy home with cookies, catch in the back yard, and love. Maybe he could've gone somewhere normal... Once I had pulled my brother back onto the ground and behind me, I felt her hand hard against my cheek. Everyone had heard it, the heartbreak a child receives when their parent lays a violent hand on them, it was as loud as a bee buzzing in your ear. Everyone stared, open mouthed and wide eyed. They began pointing as if I was another exhibit. For the first time in my life I realized that I was there with that walrus. In a cage, surrounded by people who stare with horrified expressions. But, I had to remember, these were the same people that ignored my pleading, tear soaked eyes when I really needed them. Strangers turned their back on a child that needed a hero. One by one, I felt the people turn to stare as my mother dragged us out behind her and with every person who looked away I felt my heart get colder and colder until... I forgot it was even there. I guess this is what people mean when the world crushes the smallest sliver of hope out of a child. With my trust in others gone, I felt as if my heart was a barren wasteland, worthless and alone in all events. Charlie was a little harder to shut down than I was. He fought up until the day he died. I still haven't figured out if it was his strength or ignorance that carried him that far.

The day my brother died started out surprisingly still. I remember cutting through the garden on our way to school and then listening to him shoot out random facts about the plants that surrounded us. I never did care much for the sciencey part of life; I just appreciated the beauty and feeling of safety that the garden gave me. We always came here, to escape from home. It was like our little slice of serenity. I wouldn't have traded it for the world.

After a long and emotionally challenging day of high school, my brother and I walked home separately because I had detention. Mrs. Farley caught me skipping class, this time.. I took the long way home so that I could see the butterflies in the garden. They had just gotten back from their trek somewhere warmer.
I arrived home to an open door and my brother’s back pack sitting on the front porch. He had done this many times before, so it was of no concern. After slowly pushing the door open and stepping through the threshold, I witnessed the one thing in this world that I still have nightmares about. My brother had brought home a stray kitten that was injured to try to nurse it back to health. I guess he didn't know my mom would be home or maybe he just didn't care. Animals were his life.. Charlie was lying on the hard linoleum floor with the kitten not far away.. My eyes slowly traced the outline of the pool of blood that was escaping from his head. The blood was spreading the way summer sun does across an open field. It slipped in-between the tiles, burying the mortar. After having the image of my brother lying there practically branded into the back of my skull, my eyes moved to my mother. She didn't resemble a women who had just lost her son unexpectedly, let alone murdered him. She instead took the shape of a warrior that had just claimed their most important victory. She looked triumphant standing over my brother’s corpse, and that broke me.

I tried to run; I tried to escape but, it only made things worse. Before I had even taken hold of the doorknob, she had prepared herself to handle the situation. Picking up the lamp from a nearby table, she struck me. I just remember the old, rough carpet in the living room scratching my cheek as she dragged me to my room and thinking "Charlie, you're free..." After that, it all just get's blurry.

When I finally woke up, I found that she had locked me in my room. My windows were bolted down and the door was not only locked but obviously blocked from the other side. I pressed my ears against the door, trying to listen for any sort of movement. There wasn't a sound to be heard, no movement, no reason to scream. No one would come to my rescue. Charlie and I had screamed many times before and no one came running.. In fact every time they heard us I'm sure that they just turned up the volume on their televisions and buried themselves deeper into their work. Because who are we? We are Charlie and Ava Morrison, but to them that means absolutely nothing. To them, we are an outcast and a dead kid.

A few days after waking up in my room my mother came to see me. As it turned out, my brother’s funeral was that day. We went, she fake cried, and when we got home she told me to get out of her house. I laughed in her face before rushing out of the front door. I had lived in that town for fourteen years and I knew it like the back of my hand. My destination was just a few blocks away. My converse hit the pavement, hard and constant, like a heartbeat. The heartbeat of my mission didn’t skip a single beat until I was face to face with my first hero. Sheriff Roberts was a tall, dark haired man that recognized me immediately. I told him every little thing I could think of from the time my dad disappeared when I was six to a few days ago when she killed my brother.. He, of course, needed evidence. I rolled up my sleeves to expose the bruises she had left and the scar across my elbow from a past beating. Needless to say, those events are what got me here, Ward C.

Ward C at Worthing’s Mental Institution was far from prestigious. There are long cracks in literally every wall and the lights flicker constantly. I don’t come here very often. I actually try to avoid seeing my mother as best as I can but today was a family visit. This means that my aunt and I got stare at my mom for an hour while my uncle drinks himself into another reality. Cecelia, that’s my mother’s name, was placed in ward C because she is considered “dangerous” due to the fact that she is a murderer. I wouldn’t consider her a threat to anyone though. She has enough medication in her system to curb a junkie’s addiction for weeks. The hospital practically hands out a pharmacy’s stock during medication time.

The nurse led us to the common room so we could speak with Cecelia. They left her in her straight jacket during our talks because of the history of abuse we have between us. She was sitting on the light green love seat in the back corner and as usual, my aunt insisted I go on ahead while she sits in the bathroom for a half hour in order to avoid talking to her deranged sister. Those weren’t ever her exact words but we all knew. I think sometimes even my mother figured it out. We just sat there in complete silence until my aunt got back, bringing with her my mother’s Dr. His name was Jason, and yes we were on a first name basis. The reason why is because my aunt, being a bored suburban wife, continuously hits on him in order to forget her bald and perpetually angry husband at home. He rambled on about her condition which I could honestly not care less about. She killed my brother, although I loved her, I saw her as nothing more than a monster, every time I looked into her glazed over eyes I saw my brother’s eyes. I remember how empty they became when she stole his life away. I always get sent back the image of him lying on the floor with a river of blood flowing out of his skull.

I decided this would be the last time I would come to see her. I couldn’t continue to relive that moment. Over and over… It had to stop. I got up from my place in a chair next to my aunt and walked out. Out of the room, out of the hospital, out of their lives. I didn’t say a word about where I was going or why.

As soon as I got to the edge of the sidewalk that circled around the hospital, I started running, faster than I ever had. Even faster than the day I turned my mother in. I felt like if I didn’t get out then I never would and I couldn’t let that happen. There wasn’t a single life there that I envied or even remotely wanted. I felt like a horse in a herd of buffalo or a rabbit among turtles. I needed nothing more than to run. I think deep down I always knew that I was bigger than this town and I was past the point of needing to prove it.
As I reached the garden Charlie and I use to pass through, I stopped, soaking in the sunlight and the smell of flowers. The way everything relies on each other there really is fascinating. I wished that I had listened more when Charlie went on one of his rants. He always was full of interesting facts, and I saw them all around me here. The garden preserved him, so much so that I almost expected him to come running around the corner any minute. But, minutes passed, and nothing more than a bird came around that corner. It’s times like these that I have to remind myself that he’s gone.

Interrupting my train of thought, a loud grumbling sort of sound started down the street. The next part was nothing more than a scene cut from fate’s film. It presented itself so perfectly. The light turned red at just fast enough for the motorcycle to stop right next to me. There was a tall, lean, dark haired man sitting on the bike. He looked over at me and smiled. I never would’ve had the courage to do what I did next had it not been for my lack of connection with anyone else. I walked up to him, stopping only a foot away.
“Where are you going?” I gazed down at him.
“Anywhere but here. This towns got nothin’ to offer.” He scoffed.
“Nothing but bad memories.” I whispered as flashbacks of my brother flooded my mind.
“Where ya’ headin’ miss?”
“My names Ava, and honestly, I am going wherever the road decides to take me.”
“Well Ava, it turns out I’ve got room for one more if you’re interested.” He smirked at me and reached out his arm toward me, helmet in hand.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t have a single thing holding me back. It was just me and the open road, full of possibilities. I could be whoever I wanted. I could rewrite my story and leave my cliché’ pathetic life in that tiny town of Burbank. And, that’s exactly what I did. I took a leap of faith and got onto that man’s bike before I had the chance to regret it.
After wrapping my arms around this complete stranger, I closed my eyes tight and didn’t open them again until we were past the “Welcome to Burbank” sign. It’s all over. I am finally free. Out of my cage and soaring like the bird I always was.