Random Impression #3 : #Lunchbox

#Lunchbox

Since I just finished my storytelling on Oral Communication, let me share with you my own story which is entitled “Lunchbox”.

Lunchbox

By: Denise Julianne T. Langit

Having a drunkard dad is tough. He always smokes and goes home drunk. But I never actually talk to him that much when he goes home because he easily gets angry and may slap me like the last time I tried to talk to him out of his bad habit.

My mom is the only one who’s working for our family now. While me? I do my classmates’ homeworks for them to pay me. But sssshhhh! Because I’ve kept it as a secret from both of my parents. Well, my dad wasn’t always like that. He started his habit when we lost our previous house and all our belongings. He tried to find jobs to get us by but he failed at every single one of them. Why? Because he lacks the educational background.

Then one day, everything changed.

“Ew! Katarina is so fat!”

“Fatty cake!”

“Ew, a disgusting fat thing, yuck!”

It was another normal day at school. I was always the center of attention and pain due to my expanded body composition. Who cares, anyway? I always got bullied to the extent that it became physical. I was walking into my classroom until three boys stopped me at my tracks.

“Hey fatty! Where are you going?”

“Yeah, pigs don’t belong here.”

“Go away!”

I continued walking until one of them shouted something that sparked up the part of me that I dared not to show.

“Boohoo! Walk away daughter good for a nothing drunkard.”

I punched him hard in the face without hesitation. Then, they all approached me and beat me up for doing so. I couldn’t defend myself because no one was outside. I was helpless.

Kick after kick. Punch after punch. It all inflicted pain that it reached me on an emotional level. Aish! Why did my father evern becama a drunkard?

I went home with plenty of bruises. As always, dad was in the living room, watching TV, drunk as always. Mom greeted me with a worried expression.

“Oh sweetie, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“It’s nothing. I just defended myself because they teased me. They called me a pig and they called dad a good for nothing drunkard.” , I replied.

“You need to defend yourself better.” , Dad exclaimed.

“Honey!”

“No mom, let me handle this.” I walked to where dad was and turned off the TV. “You know what? This is all because of you! Ever since you became alcoholic, I lost a piece of me that was one of the most vital things I need.”

“Stop complaining, will you?! You have food, water and clothing. What more could you ask for?” He said with a smug smile.

“You know what I need? You know what I crave for everytime I wake up until I sleep at night? The love of a father? Because everytime you hold that bottle of alcohol and cigarette, we disappear in your sight! For once, I want to feel like you care for me again. For once, I want to have a dad again. Can you do that?”

He didn’t respond and avoided eye contact. I stomped my foot before saying, “I guess not.”

I went up the stairs and cry myself to sleep. Mom tried to reach me but I slammed the door before she caught up with me. I cried myself to sleep that night.

The next morning, my eyes are still sore from crying last night.

As I was walking to my school, a guy in a hoodie walked beside me. He seemed suspicious so I ran. But before I could take a step away, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the dark alley. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He had a knife that was aimed to my throat. 

“Don’t resist pretty girl.” He said that as he ran his free hand through my hair. He then removed my backpack and began unbuttoning my shirt. I wanted to push him but his grip was too strong.

Then suddenly, he let go of me. No, someone pulled him away. As I stood up, I saw my dad fighting the bad guy. I just stood there and watched as dad landed punch after punch. But the guy grabbed ahold of knife and stabbed my father and ran away.

Tears streamed down my face as I approached him. 

“Dad? Dad! No! No!!”

“Sssshh, don’t cry. You wanted me to become your dad again, right? Do me a favor and hold my hand for the very last time.”

“Why did you even follow me?”

“You forgot your lunchbox, honey.”

And that was when his eyes completely shut and his hand slipped out of mine.

At least for the very last time, my craving was satisfied. The love a father.

The end.