Thursday, March 21

Ghosts of Childhood

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I went to get my father’s favorite brand of alcohol ‘Chelsea’ just a few miles away from my street. I was ten years old with the innocence of a child but an experience way beyond my age. The sound of thunder hastened my steps as I rushed to make it in time to the shop to avoid getting drenched by the approaching downpour.


There he was sitting on a stool behind a shelf in his shop; his bulging stomach being his most noticeable asset. He knew exactly what I wanted as I happened to be his regular customer. I grabbed the bottle from him and placed it carefully in the small bag I held. It was 7:30 p.m and I stood in front of his shop waiting for the rain to subside.

Then I felt him, felt his breath on my neck as he gently drew me back into a corner of his shop. There I stood, too scared to shout and too confused to even make a move. He touched me in inappropriate places. Eventually, the rain subsided; with tear clouded eyes I hurried back home.

My ordeal with the shop man continued for as long as I had to see him; every day. I told no one; not because I didn’t want to, but because I was just so scared.

My plight came to an end a year later when we moved to a new neighborhood. I said goodbye to my old life of abuse and looked ahead to a bright future.

Several years passed by and with each passing year my memories got buried even deeper and deeper till they no longer existed.

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I put finishing touches to my make up as the arrival of the groom’s family was announced. It was my engagement party. Beaming with smiles, I hurried down the stairs eager to see my fiancé’s father whom I had heard a whole lot about but never got to meet until our engagement day.

Good morning, father, I said to the man whose back was turned to me. His resounding laughter filled the air as he responded to whoever it was he was speaking to on phone. Evening my daughter, he replied as he turned around and there it was.

His bulging belly even more pronounced, his face just the same as it had been several years ago; when I was ten, right in his shop. The memories all came back like a rushing wind, memories I had buried long ago. My soon to be father-in-law was the same man that abused me as a child.

If I ever thought my past won’t haunt me, I could never have been more wrong.

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About Author

I’m Alara Karis, a writer and blogger who simply loves living each day at a time. Some call me a nerd, some call me a professor. But if you ask me, I’ll simply say I’m an artist who enjoys painting the world in words.


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