No Other Choice

Florence Collymore

No Other Choice

This story is dedicated to all victims of violence.

PREFACE: I AM A VICTIM

Being a victim is a mix of all kinds of different feelings. You feel yourself miserable, scared, stupid, weak, and disgusting. All emotions are vague and you cannot distinguish even the vividest difference.

No matter what victim you are.

A victim of domestic abuse.

A victim of sexual assault.

A victim of physical dominance.

A victim of bullying.

A victim of child abuse/neglect.

A victim of hate crimes.

A victim of people/sex trafficking.

A victim of terrorism.

And I must forget to mention many other types of victims.

I’m sorry for all of you. Truly sorry. However, let’s not forget that we have one another. We are actually all the same. We need help. We need family around. We need to be loved. I know that most of us don’t have it, so why don’t we all be the most lovely family in the whole universe. We are all capable of giving true love. We all know how the other person may feel. We all know each other at some point. Let’s not wait when our past abusers change, let’s be loved right away.

If you know a person who experiences abuse in his/her life, do not stay aside and help. You know what it is to feel that pain. It’s crucible and unbearable. Those people deserve to be treated well.

I want you to know as well that we believe you. We believe each word of yours. We believe each action of yours. Don’t be afraid to tell us your story because we know that your story is the right one.

Please, I’m begging you, don’t be afraid to ask for help because only you are capable of breaking that vicious circle.

Amen.

Lessons I learned from my family:

I learned that in order to get love and appreciation you need to cook, clean the house, wash dishes, and not show emotions.

Passing out is the best way to escape.

Learn morse code and how to unlock locks without a key.

Go to the gym to be strong.

Upper body strength is the most important strength.

No one cares about your dignity.

Meditate, it's the least you can do for yourself.

Don’t judge people, you don’t know their story.

It’s OKAY to be alone.

You can come back from rock bottom.

Domestic violence can take many forms.

A shelter is more than just a place to stay.

Finding someone to talk to is vitally important.

You cannot change them.

Don’t talk about your feelings with them.

Have a plan. Always.

Try to get into college.

Don’t listen to them.

It’s not your fault.

You don’t have to be a good girl, but it would be helpful.

CHAPTER ONE: CONFESSION

Good evening, guys. Or morning. Or afternoon. My name is Wrat Walker. Never have I ever heard a name uglier than mine. I have been living in Scranton, PA my whole life. My life always gave me miserable and challenging tasks. Beginning with family and ending with the job. Honestly, I didn’t handle them well. Destiny punched me in the face hundred and hundred times. And I just accepted it. I can’t say that I’m hard-working, conscientious, and so on. I was born in a family where the annual income was less than $4000. Imagine yourself. In a family where nobody cares about you. Neither mom nor dad. Thus, I feel like I can blame my parents for my ending-up place. Warning. You will either understand me and accept my actions or consider me insane and be happy for what I’ve got.

The first thing I want to say is that I’m writing this book for relief. I want to tell my stories to someone but I can’t. I’m so fed up with my family that I wanna kill each of them. And I will. I promise. When you finish reading this “book”, they’ll be all already dead. And I will be in jail because I committed those crimes and I must be punished. I’m a good citizen and respect the law. But also I didn’t wanna be a fraud like my family. I am not a coward. I am eager to possess all the virtues of a good man, so I am willing to begin with honesty.

Each chapter’s gonna be about each member of this messed-up family. Each chapter’s gonna end with the way I murdered them. I hope it’ll give you some food for thought. Maybe you will even come up with interesting ideas on how to murder annoying-you people. And last but not least, I know that there are even worse families than mine and that people suffer worse and so on. I know it. And I know that I’m not special nor unique. And I know that I’m not the main character as well as you. Let’s be honest. So just feel free to enjoy this life and kill those who bug you. But be careful with your choices and know that punishment will chase you if you do not come clean.

CHAPTER TWO: MOTHER

Meet Her

This is the worst part of my life. My dear mother. She drives me crazy. I can’t even describe it in words. Or maybe it’s just because I’m illiterate and never got a chance to learn English properly. This book I wrote with a dictionary by the way. So much hate I hold in myself for this human. It’s not a woman. It’s a literal snake that day by day eats your brain and soul, and nervous system.

Her name is Mia Walker. She is 56 years old, was born in my hometown, works as a cashier, is a heavy smoker, abuser, and for sure has a bunch of mental problems, including schizophrenia. She wasn’t diagnosed but if she had had the chance to live longer, she would have been diagnosed for sure. My mommy didn’t achieve anything. You clearly can see it because all her personal background fits in three sentences. She didn’t get into college for the first time, the second time, and the third time. Appreciation for trying. Her biggest accomplishment is being a clean freak. I know what I’m saying. She’s really proud of this title. She finds her worth in this and definitely wants everyone around her to be just like her. Irrational, right? She doesn't think this way. Mia seriously rates everyone by their cleanliness. And will judge you if you’re not like her. It’s actually really weird considering her lifestyle.

She’s a smoker. A heavy one. But listen, she is insecure about her age. I know that a lot of old people are concerned about this and they want to be young, and so on. But she smokes a lot. And when I said it, I meant it. Honey, how do you expect to look good when you smoke like a chimney? It's out of any basics of logic. But I’m not a bitterly resentful kid when a mommy didn’t give me candy. No more objective adjectives. I want to speak in a language of facts. So here we are. I wanna tell you the first situation that inflated my hate towards Mia Walker. Please, hear me out. Educate yourself on the topic of domestic abuse. Every 4th person is abused in some kind of way. It’s not just a story of my life. It’s a story of every 4th person on this planet.

Don’t You Ever Dare To Lie

I was 8 years old. It’s been 9 years since I hold this memory. I perfectly remember every single detail from that day. If you can relate to me, I’m sorry. Understand you. It sucks. But we have to handle these problems if we want to be successful, right? We don’t need mommy issues as well as daddy issues. But the problem is I’ve already got them. Nothing in my control anymore. I’ve got so many problems because of this person. And something tells me that it’s not okay to enjoy my life only if my parents are out of my sight. But let’s already start with a problem.

Have you ever been to any sport/hobby clubs? Parents love to send their kids there. But not mine. I always begged them to send me to Art School, Music School, and so on. We had money. Enough money to live well. We are middle class. Not impressive and obviously not the reason to show off. But, damn, they didn’t wanna spend a single penny on their own children. I, 7 years old, begged my mom to send me to basketball. It lasted over 8 months. And finally, they did it. I turned 8 and was so happy like I got a ticket to Disneyland. So a friend of mine and I went to our first training. Her mom escorted us. And, honestly, it was awesome. I still love basketball, and I guess I would still play if I wasn’t 5’2. Are you kidding, God? It’s like the minimum height. No space to get lower. So obviously I wasn’t that appreciated in those whole situations but I was a kid that didn’t care about anyone’s opinion.

We actually wanted to do basketball only because of the fact that we would be able to skip school due to competitions. Spoiler: I’ve never been to a single competition. But don’t worry. I was okay. It’s not the last reason to cut myself.

I don’t want to beat around the bush anymore. So read carefully, maybe you’ll think that it’s not a reason to kill your mom. If you think so, I will cut your throat. Literally. No one has the right to beat a child. You are a grown-up. You are several times bigger than me. You are several times older than me. Shame on you, freak. I’m sorry if you can’t find an equal rival and is willing to beat a kid who can’t even handle her own emotions due to age. But it did not bother you because you are a psycho, fake mother. Damn, I still beat around the bush but I’m trying to make you even more curious. Have no idea if I did because, again, I’m not a writer.

Winter

December 10

Wednesday

I even remember the day of the week. Impressive, isn’t it? I know. I remember every day when my mom beat me in a new way. Special days.

That day I was in my room with my sister, doing homework. The doorbell rings. I’m going to see who is there. Trying to look in a peephole. Mommy. Mommy with a right hand in gypsum. You will find out later how I remembered which hand. I open her door. See her crying and do not know what to do.

“Is everything okay?”, I asked.

“Don’t ya see?”, she answered as I was drunk and couldn’t notice her.

“Why did you freeze? Bring those bags in the kitchen.”

I take the bags. They are heavy. Sister comes to help me.

“What happened mommy?”

“Try to think logically. There is ice-crusted ground outside.”

I was so naive. I thought she just talked with me. But she just laughed and after that made jokes about me. Jokes about what? About my curiosity?

“You slipped on the ground,” I said and tried to hold back tears.

At that moment she hit me in the head. I was used to it. Nothing special. But this hit showed that she certainly slipped on the ground. I laughed after that. A grown-up woman slipped on the ground. Can’t you look at what you are stepping on? Thought my curious head.

Hitting wasn’t even the worst problem. The worst problem was that I had to take care of her because of her broken arm. Others refused to do it and I had no choice. I had to cook, clean, vacuum, dress her, wash her hair. I hated her and all this stuff. My school and homework did not bother her. How was I supposed to do all this stuff when I was 8 years old? I did not know how to ride a bike. What did you then expect me to cook? Ravioli? If I made a mistake, she would hit me. If I said something wrong, she hit me. She hit me every single day. I wish I had had a tumor because of this. I would have died and no more suffering. I was 8 when I had those thoughts in my head.

That day I had practice at 4:00 AM. I packed my backpack and waited for my friend to call me while my mom was doing something noisy with some man in another room. Did my mommy think that I was not hearing anything? Did she think that I was 2 years old and would not remember it? She was moaning and screaming so hard. It wasn’t my dad. She cheated on him all the time. And beat me each time after cheating so that I don’t tell my dad. It’s her way of coping with the immoral actions she performed. Some people go to psychologists but she chose this option. I was little and had no idea why she was beating me because of what she did.

So practices, in order to escape hell, were my dream as soon as I got home from school.

This time I was even happier to get out of the apartment.

When I reached the spot where my friend and I always meet together, I was thirty-five minutes earlier. So I had to wait. It was winter. Minus fifteen degrees. Extremely cold, considering that I didn’t have a winter coat. I was wearing that spring coat for 3 years. It was a bit small for me and definitely not for that day’s weather. Lucky me, she came ten minutes earlier. But she wasn’t alone. As she told me, she came with an excellent idea. This idea was to skip basketball practice. I, as a kid who had never before even had thoughts about it, was shocked. How dare you skip basketball practice.

“But we wanted to skip school because of basketball! You don’t think clearly!”, I said.

“Yes, I know our plan! I wanted to skip only today's practice. Nobody is going to find out. We’re gonna go to the cafe instead. What do you think?”, she enthusiastically answered.

“I don’t know. It’s too risky. I don’t want my mom to beat me because of this.”

“She won’t beat you because she’s not going to know it. Nobody will tell her!”

“Are you sure?”

“Like never before!”

I agreed. I don’t know exactly why. I just thought that it would be extremely cool to go to the cafe on a weekday. I had no money though.

So we went to a local cafe and when we took off our clothes and the waitress came to us to take an order, only then I said that I had no money. My friend had some, but it wasn’t enough to order anything for two people. We apologized and left the cafe.

“Why didn’t you take the money?”, my friend asked.

“Because I am supposed to be practicing!”

“Don’t you have pocket money for situations like these? My parents always give me money if I urgently need something.”

“Sorry but no. They don’t give me money at all. Mom said that I should earn my own money already.”

“But you are in third grade.”

Cool, isn’t it?

“She doesn’t care.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s rather buy hot tea on the street. I’m sure we have enough money for two cups.

So we bought two cups of super hot tea. Want to say ahead, I don’t like tea. I hate it. But I didn’t wanna upset my friend because she was buying it, not me, and being mean and picky is bad.

I actually didn’t drink it. I split some tea each time she turned away.

But it was a good day. Definitely. I don’t spend much time with my friends because my mom doesn’t let me, so I really appreciated this opportunity.

When I got home, mom was in her room, lying in the bed. I said hi and went to my room. In a minute she called me. I was terrified. She could beat me again because I was too loud with my books.

“How was your practice?”

“Good.”

“What did you do?”

“We were practicing different techniques-”

“You weren’t at practice. You lying. Your coach called me. You didn’t show up.”

“Mom, I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. Please. It will never, I swear, will never happen again.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She stood up and my heart just tore apart into many pieces. But I didn’t run. I stood there ‘cause I know that if I had run, It would have been worse.

She grabbed my hair and with all her strength threw me on the floor, pulling me to the front door. And started beating me with her hand in gypsum. That’s how I remember which hand was broken. By the way, it was painful as never before. Roughly twenty times in the head and way more in the stomach, hands, legs. She repeated something like “For what we spend our money? You know how much money you waste. Bitch. Asshole. Slut. (Slut in 8 years old).”

Then she was hitting the door with me. And then threw me out of the apartment. The door closed. I thought my dad was at work and when he came back he would open the door. But he actually was at home. He heard everything and didn’t help me out. I was able to get home in the morning when he went to work. And instead of daddy’s love, I got a big smack in the face. Crying I got in and, lucky me, mommy was sleeping. I packed a backpack, changed my clothes, and went to school. WIthout breakfast because there was no food at home.

No Escape

I don’t want to get into details of my “poor” childhood. I honestly feel like I had a lot of reasons to kill her. This and previous stories are just the most highlighted. Maybe tearful at some point. And I don’t want you guys to feel compassionate towards me but I doubt you are going to do that.

Anyways, situations like the previous, perhaps less severe, have happened on a daily basis. I was so sick of all of it. I was a child. I wanted happiness and childhood, and my parents’ love. Why does a mommy, who gave birth, didn’t sleep, didn’t get an abortion, want her own child to suffer that much? And it is not just about me. Over millions and millions of children get treatment like mine. Worse or a bit better. One question still is not answered “ Why then did you keep kids if you hate them so much? It’s stupid.”

The second huge TOP-reason why I killed my mother is below. But I want to point out the fact that everyone is different, and different situations are perceived differently. So you maybe won’t agree with me but it’s okay. That’s all.

It happened in the summer of 2017 when I was 16. Those days were literal hell. My mom, my dad, sister, and two brothers were at home. Agnes was 7, Steve was 17, and Elon was 36. Elon decided to spend a summer with us but rather he didn’t. I didn’t and still don’t love any of them. I’ll tell you why in the next chapters. Right now it’s all about the woman that against my wish pushed me out of her body. Let’s be gentlemen.

I was always a rebellious girl. I like it about myself. But unfortunately, I had to get rid of this trait. She didn’t like when I was curious, adventurous, and so on.

That day on August 13th I ate the last piece of bread and didn’t wash my one plate. How ridiculous it didn’t sound, it cost me a lot.

Where to begin? Let’s come back two days earlier. August 11th. Mom’s vacation ended. She went to work, and I was the happiest person in the world. Just imagine spending all the days with your mommy ‘cause you have no friends to go out with. My friend with whom I went to basketball did not want to have anything to do with me anymore. I guess you know why. But the happiness wasn’t too long. She came back in 3 hours, crying and screaming. I was frustrated. I didn’t want to ask her what happened and I didn’t. But the situation became worse. She didn’t go to work the following day and the day after the following day. As I found out later, she quit the job, or better to say she was fired because the manager made a remark. It drove her insane and she started screaming, breaking stuff around, and attacked a couple of customers.

How did I find it out? I went to that shop to buy some groceries and the manager said that I’m not welcome here and it’s better to leave. I asked why and he told me the story. I was super disappointed and furious. I wanted to throw up but it wouldn’t have changed my status in that store.

When I came back, my emotions were on the highest level. I started yelling at my mom. Don’t make me bad in this story. I was yelling because I was the only one who had the job. A 16-year-old girl will take care of herself and her family. Steve didn’t work, even though we were the same age and live in the same freaking house. Elon had a job but he didn’t help us. He just loved spending summer with us ‘cause he didn’t have to pay his own bills. But it’s not our topic right now.

When I was yelling at my mom, I regretted it 100500 times. She became insane, I swear. She took the knife under her pillow and wanted to stab me. Lucky me, I ran away and closed myself in my and my siblings’ room. Not lucky me, in the room, was Steve. He didn’t care that mom was with a knife. We all knew that she loved Steve and wouldn't hurt him. I begged him not to open the door but he was bigger and stronger than me. Steve hit me three times in the head so that I almost passed out and did open the door…

When I saw Mia, I eventually passed out.

I woke up, as I then found out, 9 hours later. All in bruises, cuts, with mind-blowing headache, stomach ache, and toothache. It was August 13th. Almost midnight. Everyone was sleeping and I was in the corner, sobbing and cursing my life. I didn’t eat enough or even I can say at all for three days. So obviously I went to the kitchen to find even something small. My metabolism slowed down a long time ago, so I didn’t need a lot of food. I was extremely happy when I found a piece of bread and some butter in the fridge. It was everything we had. I swear I enjoyed that ‘sandwich’ for 10 minutes. Small bites and careful chewing. Then I went to bed and was woken up at 12 AM.

My mom hollered at Agnes. She thought that the youngest one had eaten bread. Agnes was crying and mom started beating her. She didn’t have rules. She hit her in the same way as me. Mia is a genuine misogynist. Brothers were loved and taken care of whereas my sister and I were constantly abused in any possible way.

I was still a human being and I didn’t want to end up like my parents so I decided to plead guilty. But damn, I am the only one who works and I can’t get food. I’m not guilty. But she didn’t think so.

I quickly entered the kitchen and told everything. I even tried to assure her that I earn money and that I can eat what I want in this house. It would have been so much better if I just had shut my mouth and accepted that it’s my fault.

“Mom. I’m the only one who brings money home. I didn’t eat for a couple of days and it was just a small piece of bread. One small bite.”, it’s everything I said.

“I’m going to work and there’s nothing to eat.”, she said really quietly. I was impressed.

Maybe it’s the end of our constant brawls and clashes. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

“I was supposed to buy groceries but I passed out for nine hours and woke up at midnight.”, I said super calmly in order to not provoke her.

She was provoked by those words.

“So that I’m the bad guy here, right?”

“No, I didn-”

“You freaking piece of garbage. I raised you, feed you, didn’t sleep–”

“And beat me every single day! When was the last time you said something good to me? You never raised me! I’ve been working since I was nine–”

She didn’t listen to me until the end. She lunged at me, started choking. Mia was stronger than me as well as taller. I couldn’t compete with her at all. I was just really and genuinely hoping that she would choke me to the death. Although I didn’t wanna die like that, not to mention that it’s a lot of suffering, it was better than keep living with them. But this bitch did not want me to die. Who’s then going to take care of all of them? So she almost choked me not the point when I die but to the point when I pass out. I learned that passing out is the best way to escape. I did it a lot. And learned how to do this. But be careful because if you live in a toxic household, after passing out you probably will end up in weird places as well as me.

I woke up tied to the radiator. She freaking tied me with handcuffs to the radiator. And honestly, the most disgusting thing was that she had sex in those handcuffs. Bruh. In retrospect, it was funny though. But at that moment I realized that no one was home, I was unconscious for just an hour, and I’m late for work. It’s the last thing that I wanted. I was so freaking afraid that I’m gonna lose my job that I started crying and screaming. It lasted for four to five minutes. Then I realized that It didn’t help me. I was 20 minutes late which is a lot but at the same time it wasn’t enormously late, so maybe I wouldn’t lose my job.

Lucky me, I know how to unlock locks without a key. I actually even know morse code. When you are growing up in a toxic household, you learn everything that can help you to survive. But also it is cool to show off for a bit around your classmates. I always told them that my dad taught me that. Everyone's dad taught someone something. And I didn’t want to be an exception.