There was a storm outside. The siblings were bundled up in blankets in a small corner of the shed - a place they picked randomly in someones yard - just to stay the night. They couldn’t get caught now, they need to go back to their, parents, home. Her sister - Stefa - was in her own blanket, stolen from some kid, mouthing “Mother’s curse and Father’s words.” Her brother - Robert - was sitting in the other corner, across her, angrily glaring at a dead cockroach on the floor. He was sitting on a pillow, wrapped in another blanket. Katerina sat with her mothers jacket. Her mom didn’t need it anymore, since she left it at their house when they left for ‘business’ across the ocean and the sea. It was warm enough, too big for Katerina, so she could wrap it all around her, knees brought up to chest, jacket buttoned shut. The smell of fire outside was persistent.
When Katerina was 5, she remembered being in moms lap, grabbing a green crystal around her neck. She never took it off - even when she slept - and only allowed Katerina to grab it. Slapped Roberts hand away and looked at him with anger. He was 7, she remembered, older than her but more mature than most first graders.
Robert once yelled at Katerina, when she was 6. She though that mom might protect her as he kept yelling, but looking over at the kitchen table where mom was sitting, she only saw her pouring another shot. “World isn’t nice,” her mom said to Katerina after Roberts yelling. “you have to learn that eventually.”
But she was only 6.
She was only 6 when her father took out a gun and loaded it.
She was only 8 when her teacher taught about parental love, and she learned that her family was different.
She was only 10 when some men in suits came to the front door and took my father along with them.
A phone rang from the wall and her mom answered, only to start screaming once a minute passed.