Where the crawdads sing

I remember, even now, the usual fights between my parents. They used to
fight everyday. My mom was yelling to him because he spends so much time at
the bar and he doesn’t offer us a decent life. I wasn’t complaining. My mom
destroyed everything before running away, she broke every plate she ever had.
My dad was different. He was, much of the time, absent but I couldn’t care
less. He never hit my mom, but he was yelling two times harder than her. I hated
his voice.
When stuff like this happened, I refugee myself to an abandoned beach. It was
at the end of the village, not so far. People weren’t present there because of the
crawdads. I could hear the fear in their soul.
I had no one to talk to, only these crawdads who never showed their limbs
while I was there. I was so sick of this family that I wanted to swim under the
water and force myself to stay there forever. But one day, while I was telling the
sky my problems, a crawdad, who heard everything, maybe because he had
similar problems, said “By the way, that is what I am talking about.”

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