Inevitabitlity

Another
school assignment. Assignment:
write a prohibition story in which your main character commits an
offence/something that they are not allowed to do and gets caught.

Inevitability

Erin Thorp

          The radiator doesn’t rattle anymore and incessant crying
doesn’t continue on through the night. There is no breeze through the thin
walls and cracked windows. The refrigerator filled with beer and week old Cole slaw
has been replaced with apple juice for the little ones and let over containers
of spaghetti and Mac and cheese. There used to be six of us, but now there is
only four, just me and my three little siblings, old enough to ask where Mommy
and Daddy have gone, but young enough to be placated with whatever lie I can
come up with. If I let one of them cry for too long, there will be no one to
yell at me, except for my own conscience. Momma would have said that the
conscience is enough to damn a person, but I don’t think that the police will
agree. It doesn’t matter anymore, Momma’s in jail and Dad’s dead. They called
it murder, but Momma called it opportunity. And me? I
took the money and everything else that’s left and ran. They’ll come for me
soon. Mom took the blame, but I was the one who did it all. Too many nights of
crying, too many nights of being cold and hungry can do things to a person. Too
many nights of watching my father use up our money while his kids starved made
the decision easy. Sure, he had plenty of money in the bank, but never let his
family touch it, at least, not while he was alive. Brian is crying again,
whining for his supper. Mom’s in jail and soon I will be, too, but that’s ok,
Carole’s sixteen and can take care of the younger two when I’m gone and I’m
sure that the police will find homes for them. It’s better than starving
anyway. I didn’t kill him with any logic in my head, just a lot of anger and I
suppose I’m paying for that now. As I put the left over Mac and cheese in the
microwave for Brian, high beams flash through the window in the kitchen. I
won’t put up a fight. My conscience for letting down my family is enough.
Sophie tugs on my jeans and I can’t bear to look down into her blue eyes. The
microwave dings and the smell of cheese is thick, but all I can think about is
my little sister. She’s four years old and I’ve let her down. There is a knock
at the door. Can I really abandon them like this? I feel no guilt for my
father’s death, but Sophie’s innocent eyes are like iron stakes in my heart. I
should face the consequences for my actions, but at the same time, I am torn by
the desire to take my family and run far, far away from this whole mess. They
are my responsibility and I am all that they have left in the world. There is another
knock and another tug on my pant leg while the microwave dings faintly in the
back of my mind. They’ll ask me if I regretted doing it, but I’m sure you can
guess what my answer will be.