Becca

A very short story about child abuse. Possibly (very) disturbing to some readers.

The pain only grows greater ever day, Becca realizes. The longer I stay alive, and the longer I stay alone, the more I will eventually be hurt. Every day it grows inside of me, just waiting for me to snap. Someday, I will snap on her. Maybe even someday, I will kill her. Maybe someday, it will all be okay.

She screams loudly as a chunk of her dirty, tangled hair is ripped out. Blood running down the side of her head, she screams and falls to the floor, crying too hard, and almost in too much pain to be able to breathe. A foot aimed well enough at her face so as to kill her should it hit right, but she sees and dodges at the last minute so that it hits her ear, leaving terrible pain but not death's mercy. By now, there's no point in her even defending herself, as there's nothing left of herself to defend. By this point in this final battle, it's already been won, and now it's simply being prolonged agonizingly for the young child and her father. She's eleven now, with the body size and strength of a six year old girl. Her hair has never been trimmed, it barely grows now for lack of health, and has chunks missing from so often being pulled out by her mother's abuse. Still, even as neglected as she is, she is beautiful.

 

A crash, as a lamp is knocked off a table, a bang on the door as the police finally show up from the father's potentially life-saving call made minutes ago as the tortures of her day started, a whimper from the dying girl laying in the pool of blood on the carpet... as Mrs. Taylor realizes what's been done to her daughter, a menacing laugh of triumph and insanity rings out above them all. All at once, chaos breaks the painful still there'd been after the last kick she'd given. The girl screams in agony, her father, in horror at what this monstrous woman he thought he loved could do to another human being, much less her own beautiful daughter... the police broke down the door and ran in, guns in hand, taking Mrs. Taylor by surprise and knocking her to the floor. And as she didn't go down without a fight, there were four of them and only one of her, and with a taser's help, she was cuffed and sitting in the police car within ten minutes, as her daughter lay on the floor, bloody, broken, whimpering, dying.

Reviews

[James Hanna-Magill]

Cy, you impress me with your honesty. It is a writer's greatest tool. You make this intimate, whilst horrifying. I could comment on your style, but that's for another time. This post is about content and how you manage it. Thing is, many will have heard of child abuse, thought about it as some abstract construct and felt / said 'how awful!' but I have seen it and experienced it at first hand. I can only therefore identify. I suppose in the writing of many, you, like I are trying to help those who have been there as well as educating those who haven't. I know about blood and pulled hair and much about police car sirens, handcuffs and all the rest. You have talent Cy whatever your youth and my age. Please keep writng. You have things to say. You express them well. And above all they are important and you need to teach us all. The French use a very effective word for this style 'epater' (to shock). You have a duty of care to us all and that is to shock us all out of our complacency. I will comment a bit more on style on my next visit. Thank you for sharing. I feel so sad whether the child concerned is you or not. I can only hope for your sake, it is not you. James

[Zap-the-awesome]

Whhhhoaaa!!! That's heart tugging big time. That's the kind of thing that gets your blood boiling.

[Summer'sBreeze]

So sad. :'(

But you did a wonderful job of describing everything in just three paragraphs.
A write well done! :)

[Cookie]

Thanks! I was worried I wouldn't be able to be descriptive enough, so short. It's good to know I still managed to do alright. :D