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Give Me Hope In The Darkness

Peppermint And Pipe Tobacco

I held the decrepit ivory coloured jumper in my hands, knotting the knitted material between my fingers and holding it close to my face, feeling the material scratch and mark my cheek. It smelt of peppermint and pipe tobacco, a scent I shall never forget, causing me to smile an inch at the sudden memory of him. I inhaled repeatedly, trying to gather every remembering I could in the short amount of time I had before I needed to put it away again. This jumper I held in my hands was complete solace to me. It was my only happiness. I felt warmth when I held it, I felt as though I were almost happy, even if it was for a brief second. It meant everything to me and I knew I could never part from it.

I circled the room, cradling the jumper still in my arms while glancing at the blank walls around me, the walls that were once filled with pieces of art I had created and band posters now vanished. All memories and passions put in one place. I'd almost forgotten the colour of the wall behind all of it.

This room was my get away from reality. It was a place I longed to return to the moment I stepped outside the door. I could be myself completely here. I could create anything I wanted, anything I dreamed of. I wasn't ridiculed or teased. I felt safe. To leave it is hard. I would no longer live in the home that I had grown up in, the home that was meant to hold the best memories a person could have. I was still unsure whether or not I would miss it, the home, the people I'd met. So much had happened here. Too much really to ever come back from.

I heard my name in the distance, pulling me away from my walk down memory lane and I unwillingly folded the tattered jumper and put it back in it's place before zipping up the plain, dark suitcase. Sighing once more to myself, looking at the room, I felt a lump in my throat form. I felt disheartened, angry even but for one thing only. Before I let my mind focus on it however, I picked up the suitcase and made my way towards the stairs, slowly closing the oak door behind me one last time. I stroked the door, seeing the chipped away paint scrape slightly beneath my touch. I chuckled, remembering the reason the paint was chipped at my door, an aspect my father was displeased with. He'd spent hours painting the walls of our home.

I picked up the suitcase, while grabbing onto the wooden bannister, and hobbled my way down the stripped stairs towards my father who was standing by the front door, smiling encouragingly at me.

“All set little one?” His thick Irish rang as he took the suitcase from my hand. I paused.

“I suppose.” I shrugged, once more looking around the hallway, feeling somber as I'd never seen the house look so empty before. The family pictures that were dotted all around our home had left light rectangular marks on the plaster, the nails still clinging to the wall almost as though their existence depended on it. I remembered my dad putting them up before everything from the world I knew crumbled. I also remembered going to the local store to chose the frames with my mom, which I insisted had to be black. Even from a young age I chose black consistently in what I owned and what I wore. It's strange what you're mind can remember from a simple stain or mark on a wall, a certain noise or word. I felt as if I everything I was, was simply a memory. I was nothing in the present.

“Come on then.” He smiled again, placing an arm around my shoulders before leading me out onto the front porch, our footsteps echoing in the empty house. Our home wasn't large, but it was big enough for us. I believe the house is actually the smallest on this street, the only reason for me knowing this is purely because I am an extremely observant person, which is sometimes a gift but also a curse. I looked around the quiet street, the 'peaceful' street, as rain drizzled lightly onto the vast green space, causing a light patter of sound to surround me. The clouds were grey with no trace of sunlight or blue sky, just as I liked it. It was as though the atmosphere was trying to keep me calm if I were to have a sudden breakdown to the situation.

It was then that my stomach dropped as I heard the door shut behind us. It slowly hit me that I'd never come back here but, what was strange was that I didn't know if I ever did want to come back. This all felt too surreal to me. I didn't feel as though I was there as my father gave me another little push down the steps. I felt as though I had no control over my own body. I felt weightless.

The taxi man was waiting impatiently, tapping his foot violently on the pavement, his eyes narrowing towards my father and I as we made our way down the curved path, his cigarette close to burning his pale, bony fingers. My father smiled politely and apologised on my behalf before placing my suitcase into the back, beside his own, then shutting the boot for the impatient man. The man flicked his cigarette butt onto the edge of our lawn before swiftly turning on his heel to open the front passenger door. My father and I climbed into the back, settling ourselves as the man roared the engine to life.

I suppressed the urge to look at the house as we drove away. I couldn't cry now after holding onto whatever strength I had for the months we'd been preparing for the move. I think my father was surprised by my lack of emotion when he said we'd be moving. In all honesty, I didn't really know how to react. I also didn't know his exact reasons for eagerly wanting to move but I bet it was because of the memories. Memories can destroy people and I really only have my father. I need to look after him, if not for his sake then for mine. I may sound selfish but I didn't want to be alone anymore. I didn't want to feel alone anymore.

As the taxi sped towards the airport, swerving dangerously between cars, the tyres screeching against the damp roads, I linked arms with my father, before resting my head onto his shoulder, smelling the same pipe tobacco on his thick coat as I'd smelt on the jumper. I buried my face into the coat, hoping to soothe the thoughts that were constantly on my mind. I wondered if one day they'd be the death of me. I think my father knew what I was trying to do. He sighed, gently patting my hand.

“It'll be alright little one, it'll be alright.”

I didn't know whether or not to trust these words. It seemed as though everything was not okay and that in a way, nothing would be okay. For me that is. My father many times said I should remain optimistic towards life but I'd had enough of it.

'Life simply isn't for everyone.' That is a statement I strongly agree with in which my father strongly scolded me for, especially after the incident earlier this year.

Once we'd made it to the airport in one piece an hour later, I reluctantly pulled myself out of the taxi, stretching and hearing the satisfying pop at the bottom of my back. The taxi man was practically shoving our suitcases onto the floor, not a moment after we climbed out, to which I gave a comment to but he did nothing but shove my bag, the last one, violently onto the floor.

“Watch it there mate.” My father warned, only slightly, as I knew he didn't want to get into some sort of spat today. The man rolled his eyes and demanded the money from my father instantly. My father in turn rolled his eyes before handing the fare to him and chuckled once he saw the agitated look on my face. He pulled two cigarettes out of his packet of Marlborough and offered me one which I gladly took. My father was ultimately upset when he found out that I had the odd cigarette here and there but he realised he couldn't preach and be a hypocrite at the same time. It was something that was strictly between my father and I.

As we lit up our cigarettes, we watched the taxi ferociously pull out of the rank, almost crashing into another car as he made a complete U turn and sped away from the airport. My father chuckled again before deeply inhaling from his cigarette.

“I'm glad to be rid of that taxi driver.”

“I don't even know what his problem was.” I grumbled.

“He probably remembers me from one of the nights out I had with the guys.” My father explained. I only, a fraction of an inch at least, sympathised with the taxi man. I knew how my father and his friends could get when they were drunk. It was entertaining to watch however when you had school the next day, which was filled with many mock papers, bullies and torment, you kind of resented them for it.

“Oh.”

We made our way inside, queueing for what felt like hours before we finally had our turn. We did what we needed to do, my father then throwing his carry on around his shoulder before leading me towards the gate to our flight. It wasn't for another hour or so but I suppose my father was worried that we'd miss it. It had happened once when I was only three or so when we were flying out to Ireland to see some family. I remember laughing because my father was extremely grumpy that day. He had to pay at least another hundred dollars to clean the slight mishap he'd made. My mother was thoroughly displeased.

It was as we sat on the uncomfortable loop of chairs that I wondered what our new home was like, what the school was like, what exactly my father was doing there and how far we were from my mother's home. I turned to him to see then he was completely immersed in his Stephen King book, IT, so I decided not to disturb him. I would simply ask him on the plane. Instead, I reached my hand into the bag and pulled out 'Wuthering Heights', one of my favourite books. It was so haunting, at moments even romantic although most of the characters were psychotic. I think it's beautiful.

This is nothing,' cried she: 'I was only going to say that heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. That will do to explain my secret, as well as the other. I've no more business to marry Edgar Linton than I have to be in heaven; and if the wicked man in there had not brought Heathcliff so low, I shouldn't have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.



The plane journey wasn't exactly as I'd hope for seeing as though dad practically fell asleep five minutes after it took off. I sat there completely unsure of what to do for the five hours. I couldn't sleep, I left my headphones in my suitcase and I already had read most of Wuthering. In the end, I decided to flick through the pages anyway, re-imagining Cathy and Heathcliff's story of obsession and tragedy.

Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”

Some believe that Cathy and Heathcliff's story is the greatest romance to have ever been written in classic literature. I wish I could agree but their love is unhealthy, tantalizing, passionate however cruel. Cathy has complete power over Heathcliff and his emotions yet, she still marries another man upon his sudden disappearance, only for fortune and social acceptance. Heathcliff is obsessed with her, infatuated and has loved her since they were both young children. She led him astray, adored the attention. It was only a matter of time before fate had gotten in the way of their lives. It's a story of cruelty above everything else, physically and mentally in which is degrading of certain characters.

As dark and twisted as the story was, I can't seem to ever put it down.

We landed eventually and was met with a dark, cold sky. The stars were barely visible, a thick mist covering the run way as we made a bumpy landing. What seemed like it should only be about six o'clock was in fact nearing 9:10pm. I'd forgotten that it was three hours ahead here.

We finally got ourselves off the plane, our suitcases collected and once again, we were standing outside of an Airport, smoking away before my mother could come and and collect us. I prayed that with this 'fresh start' (words of my father) I wouldn't get a lecture from my mother within an hour of arriving in New Jersey.

Notes

Hey beauitful people! I wanted to thank all the wonderful readers of 'All The Smiles'. I know it's been months since I updated that story (I'M SORRY) but I've got writers block and my brain kept thinking of this other story to write. I thought it might help if I get this one out and my brain my clear a little for 'All The Smiles'. I hope you enjoy this story.

Take Care <3

Comments

I’ve read this story for the second time now. Absolutely in love. The writing and thought that’s gone into it are amazing. Truly.

cKayE cKayE
3/23/19

I love this story sooooo much

way_to_go_lad way_to_go_lad
1/3/19

So glad more chapters are coming! I love this sooo much

Just wanted to say that I'm absolutely in love with this story, it's one that I always come back to no matter what. The writing is amazing and I really do hope you come back and update sometime because I have fallen in love with this book and your writing!!

Kelc17 Kelc17
6/21/18

Please update soonf! xx

action.cat action.cat
4/4/18