Ch.1

I don't know where this is going just yet.

Until then, until I let myself be enveloped by a sleep that should’ve been thoughtless should’ve been dreamless, I was safe. But, by then it was too late. I was running already, and as I ran through the invisible path, set in the greenest grass, all the flowers, leaves and even the green grass, rotted behind me. It all wilted behind as if it were under the weight of a great fire. It burnt and fell to crisp petals and ashes. I ran as fast as I could as the air thickened and the invisible flames whispered promises of death. I was scared. A well climbed tree, which seemed all too familiar, lit up like a candle as I dashed past it. My lungs began to ache and my heart hammered so hard I could’ve sworn I heard my ribs crack. Alas, I fell to my knees and I felt my ribs give way and, the invisible fire licked up the curve of my spine and at the base of my skull like a hungry snake. It seared my skin and stung my eyes so, I closed them. I squeezed them shut and parted my lips for a scream… But before I could someone else did, a blood curdling scream. Then just as suddenly as the blood curdling scream penetrated my ear, the darkness behind my glued-shut eyes subsided and I was at home again, staring at the inside of a closet door, sitting in a shadowed corner.  And, despite the still-fresh bruises littering my arms and face, I had never felt more alive.

Then the closet door opened, and the sliver of light that had been seeping through the bottom of the closet door thickened, and I could barely open my eyes. A 6 year old boy stood there and said quietly with a stuttering yet otherwise monotone voice, “He said you can come out now.” With those few words he turned around and walked away. That was my little brother, Joseph. I sat there for a moment longer as my eyes slowly adjusted to the light, while the faint sounds from the television down the hall floated note, by note into my ears. Remembering that he was still out there, a fear washed over me and I began to get up. As I fearfully moved to stand and held on to the wall trying to walk forward, paroxysms of pain shot through me in a merciless fashion. Every move evoked a new pain, and my ears began to ring.

This was not the kind of ringing of the ears you read about in romance novels, after the handsome hunk ravished his beautiful bride-to-be. No, this was the kind of ringing you got after an especially brutal beating; the kind of beating that knocks you unconscious and makes you dream bad dreams. This ringing in my ears was so sharp and antagonizing that it seemed to mock all other pain, and gifted me with a migraine.  When I finally reached the open closet door I sighed victoriously and looked around the master bedroom in its never-ending disarray.

The blinds on the large window were pulled shut, and despite the dim lighting my eyes caught a glint of broken glass. I looked to the far corner of the room and saw an upside down photo-frame and broken glass around it. I made my way slowly over to that corner, trying my best to over-come the pain. I picked up the frame then and turned it over to see my mother’s smiling face; her beautiful smiling face. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of all the hard work she was doing right then, working two jobs full time. Pushing away a few stray tears with the back of my swollen fingers I hugged the picture close then limped my way down the hallway to my room. He didn’t work, so my mother did... He didn’t love us, but my mother did.

Stepping into my bedroom I made my way to the small bed in the corner, and carefully placed the frame under my pillow before walking to the mirror on the wall above my small dresser. At the first sight of my face I felt heartbroken. Who was this beaten rag doll staring back at me? I asked myself, afraid of the answer. The skin around my left eye had swollen up so badly, I could just barely see the eye itself. Another bluish-purple bruise ran along my jaw line and a scratch on the opposite cheek. My lips were chapped and painted with flecks of dried up blood, just like my nostrils. My arms were littered with even more of those bluish-purple markings and, when I looked down at my hands I saw that my left ring finger and little finger had swollen up. For some reason that made me think of my mom... she would fix me right up if she were home wouldn’t she? Feeling unbelievably alone I sat down and tenderly placed the fingers in my lap as I sat down and wrapped a clean sock around the two just to keep them straight and from moving. After inspecting my bandaging and looked down at my bruised shin and bloodied shirt.

Just when I decided to change out of my dirtied clothes and clean up I heard him, screaming my name, “Addy! Get your stupid a*s over here! What are you trying to do? Starve us?! Don’t make me come over there! Hurry the f**k up!” Sighing softly I got up weakly and just as I opened my door, my migraine started up again, and I felt the blood trickle down from my right nostril and down into the opening of my lips, then leaving a rusted metallic taste on my tongue. But as disgusting as it may have seemed to any other 14 year old girl, to me it was a familiar taste. So, I wiped that familiar fluid away with the back of my sock-wrapped fingers, numbing myself to the pain yet to come. I hurried down the hallway despite the pained protests emanating from my bruised muscles, I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.

 

 

Author's Note

Please Please Please!!! Tell me what you think! I NEED feedback!

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The story is powerful. I had to read it a second time to grasp the truth of the story. Poor girl is strong in a way. She is trying to make sense of a crazy situation. It is well written. The details in your words make the story come alive. I believe this could be a very good story. You have many directions to go with it.
Coyote