Living in the Prison I Call Home

Arielle Norton

ENGL 202

Professor Seltzer

Spring 2015

Living in the Prison I Call Home

        As I sit in the dry, coarse, brown grass I think to myself, “How did it ever get this way?”, “Why would God choose me to be in this situation?”, “Why would He give me this life?” The house is only a little less than a mile away from me. I can see the old, torn down, beaten up barn to my left, and the old, shaggy house to my right. I was always told not to venture out this far from the house. Father always said to never pass the point of where the grass grows too long, but I had to get away. I couldn’t be in that house any longer. I couldn’t keep listening to the screaming, beating, yelling, and cursing. I didn’t care if Father noticed me all the way out there. Any punishment would be better than having to be in that torturous house. As I sat there looking at the house, the barn, and the cattle field, I started reminiscing on all the things that has happened in that old, shaggy house, and started to fall into a day dream.  

        I started to address my first question I would often ask myself, “How did it ever get this way?” I always thought I was a good child. I almost always obeyed my parents. I would wake up, get ready for school, get on the bus, go to school, come home, and then I would start my chores. I always did my chores without complaining; mainly because I knew I would get a whippin’ from Father if I did complain, so I would put my head down, zip my lips, and get to work. Once I finished my chores I would start my homework. This was always the worst part. School is not my favorite, and never will be. I then made dinner for my family. Mama was working in the fields, so this became my responsibility. Once dinner was finished I would clean up the dishes and then head to bed. This was my life, every day. I waited for the day when I could escape this prison I called home.

        I always imagined what life would be like on my own. I remembered times as a little girl, working hard in the cattle field, going to school, doing chores, and the constant yelling from my Father. “I am almost 18”, I would tell myself. I could not wait for the day I could leave this place, and escape the prison my parents called home. I never understood how someone could treat their children like slaves. I imagined what life could be like outside of my home. I imagined having my own farm with a beautiful house, a magnificent barn, a loving husband, and multiple children. I have always dreamed of having horses, but Father would never let me. I imagine a beautiful, black, draft horse. I would name her “Dream”, she would be the most beautiful horse you have ever seen. I would spend hours with her every day, I would teach my children to ride her, and she would be like a part of the family. I would want a huge house. Each of my children would have their own room, and then we would have multiple other rooms for their friends to stay with us whenever they needed to. Then my husband, oh how I dream of a loving husband. I cannot wait to find the man of my dreams who can help me live the life I have always imagined for myself.