The penpal rescueA Story by Emily Dickinson Jr. A story about a grossly abused little girl being rescued from her unpleasent life by her penpal. plz read
"Freak loves spiders, and spiders love Freak!" Growled out of a dirty little 6 year old body down below. This body was bruised, and this body was crying, but above all, this body was angry. The recipient of these hysterics was the little girl's godmother. Her name was Cassidy. Freak loved her spiders. They were her only companions in all her life. Freak counted them as her best and only friends. This was mostly because they shared something very special. They both lived in a tiny five point eight by six bomb-shelter. The bomb-shelter was a stark black blob that marred Cassidy's house,yard, and life of perfection. The home was a large and impressive estate in Cherymore Place, on the northern side of New Jersey. Though the milky brown complex was close to the ground what it lacked in height it made up for in its sprawling expanse. Cassidy was the breadwinner of the family, and in personality as well, was more a take charge individual. Her husband Ryan was not particularly kind either; he was a cold, bitter man. Luckily, for Freak he would often stay in the background; never acknoledging, never caring, much like a piece of ugly furnture. The reason Cassidy was so confident and wealthy is that she's a famous fashion designer. It was not a rare thing for her to bring in the thousands daily. This is what allowed her to own this grand show of opulence that was her home. Cassidy often resented freak because her room was the only sign of ugliness in her beautiful, spotless, pageantry world. The world that hid Cassidy's own inner ugliness. Freak's room, the bomb-shelter, was ancient and made of thick bricks; they kept the cold in. Cassidy was taking a stroll in her garden one day. She was admiring the rose bushes that her goddaughters sweat and blood, had made into a two-year going prizewinners. They had won ever since she started making the Freak garden. 'Little monster, it is the least she could do! She had better be goddamned thankful my roses won every year. After all, I worked so hard to make them into such marvelous specimens.' She heard talking and laughter near-by. The very sound made Cassidy's already nearly non-existent lips, thin into straight lines, it made her large forehead crease, beneath her own craggily, nondescript brown hair. Curling her pink taloned hands into fists, she followed the sounds of joy. She was led to the ugly, rusted bomb-shelter in her backyard. She quietly opened the bomb-shelter door and leered around the corner. She peered at what was inside. “George, you know spiders can't dance ballet! Here I'll show you, you silly spider.” giggled freak in her giddy, bell-like laugh. Smiles miles wider, than any she could have dared shown in her godmother's presence, were spread clear across her face. She jumped up and started dancing. Dancing to some music only, she could hear; until she was so dizzy she collapsed. She fell down in a fit of giggles onto her thin, gray moth-eaten blanket. She hugged her meager brown pillow. They were situated on the concrete floor. She fell into a joyful slumber among her little black friends. Not having a clue, of the acid green eyes watching her. They transformed from raged, annoyance to vengeful, pleasure. “Sleep well, girl. The morning will be to my utmost delight.” Cassidy garbled gleefully to herself, as she stalked away, intent on things of her creation. While the little one dreamed of dancing ballet with her spiders, her godmother wrapped her spindly arms around her husband Ryan. They slept shallowly in their cushiony maroon canopy of various silks. Cassady had blissful dreams of a little freak's tears and misery. “Girl, wake up! Come, eat your breakfast before I decide to give it to someone more deserving. Like those mangy mutts down the street. Darned Mongols, waking me up at all hours of the night, ” squawked Cassidy at Freak, trailing off into rambling tangents of complaints against humanity. She roughly pushed the tiny girl in front of a plate. It contained a single egg, a slice of cheese and a butter roll. “Thank you Cassidy! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She thanked her profusely. ‘I... can't believe ... I can finally eat! I’ve not eaten in two weeks. This is much more then I was given last time! Maybe godmother is not so bad after-all! I mean, she has not even hit me in three days! It is so unlike her.' Unbeknownst to Freak, as soon as she became distracted by the food, and her thoughts, Cassidy snuck away to the garage. She grabbed a great big orange container. It was as wide as her broad chest. She crept with purpose to her goddaughters bedroom with it. Along the side was a label that read ' Maximum strength insect killer, works on spiders, bees, roaches, ants and palmetto bugs. Caution: prolonged exposure may cause severe harm to humans.' She barged into the shelter, grasped the nozzle, and sprayed every spider and insect she could find. When she ran out, she sprayed all along the walls, and the floor. This included the small blanket and pillow her goddaughter slept on. With a prideful smile and a bounce in her step, Cassidy went to fetch the Freak. She walked into the dining room just as she was finishing her last bite of the butter-roll. With the wide prideful smile still stretched wide across her naturally sallow face, she addressed her charge “I have a wonderful surprise for you girl. You should be very thankful. Follow me.” "Yes, ma’am.” was the compulsory response. Freak scampered after her as fast as she could. She struggled to keep up with her lanky godmother. "‘I wonder what the surprise is. Maybe it’s a present for my birthday; it was last month. I mean, Cassidy has been awful nice to me today, who knows.' she wondered hopefully. As her godmother opened the door to her “room”, she gazed passed her eagerly. She was very confused. ‘There’s water everywhere. Maybe my gift is that she washed my room for me. What's that smell though and where i-' Her thought was cut off abruptly. “Your room has gotten disgusting girl. I have rectified it. I’ve sprayed pesticide all throughout your room. I got rid of all those disgusting insects, and vermin that have taken up habitation in here.” She was smirking superiorly. All the while, the girl's pupils began to quiver in her skull. She had finally noticed the many still shriveled black dots on her ragged blanket. Her ballet was cancelled. Her eyes slowly filled with tears. “Well? Aren't you going to thank me, child?” asked Cassidy condescendingly. Silent, sad, sobs were the response. Cassidy relished in them. They wracked freaks malnourished body. Freak did something she had never, to her knowledge, done before. She spoke to her godmother without using the words 'sorry, I apologize, sir, ma’am or my fault'. “Spiders were my friends, my only friends!” “ You ungrateful, little urchin! I should have thrown you in the canal, and let the gators have at you!” She screamed as spit and blood flew. The spit was from both of them, Cassidy from yelling and the freak from the pain, but the blood was only Freaks. If the neighbors would have cared enough to hear they could have heard "crack!" time or time again. They would have sounded suspiciously like broken bones. They would have heard splatter, after ominous splatter; almost like a leaky faucet. It was really the sound of a body being thrown across a pesticide covered floor. It was the sound of blood flowing like a river from an innocent. Her punishment included numerous broken bones, and a bruised body. This included severe blood loss. Cassidy had hit her repeatedly with a rake. She had found it leaning against the bomb-shelter. “Humph, spoiled brat! You should be a grateful little thing. Remember this well, and for always, you are and will always be, a freak. You are far below, those of us who have a name. Far below those of us that belong to society. To top it all off, you stained my favorite rake. I'll let you rest for this day. Be grateful, it's more than you deserve. Tomorrow, six sharp I expect my rake to be spotless. Do you hear me, girl!” She lectured and snarled all in one. In response, she received half a nod before the poor child blacked out. Freak woke up at dawn the next morning hurting. She knew from experience that she could still do her chores fine, and with hours to spare. Secure in this knowledge, she allowed her mind to wonder. ‘Freak knows her name is Freak! Because that is, what Cassidy and Ryan always called Freak. When Freak first started school, the teacher called her Mercy, but Freak knew what Freak's real name was. Freak wasn't stupid, even though godfather would often say she was. That deadpanned voice was really grating.' She remembered this both fondly and bitterly. The next time Mercy went to school after the rake incident, she got a surprise. ‘Freak used to think she was really special! No one else's guardian treated them like Cassidy and Ryan treated Freak. Then the school told Freak and Freak's class that there were many other freaks out there not just this freak! Of course, they didn't say Freak per' say, they said “abused children”. But Freak knows better! Freak won't let them fool Freak.' Mercy recalled. ' At first, Freak thought they were lying about there being others like freak; just like they lied about freak's name. But Freak looked up a website at the library and it said that Freaks could talk to each other. Though once again they didn't use proper words, they said “abused children” instead of Freak. Yet, at the same time, despite the frustration with the words, Freak was so very happy! There were no spiders for Freak, but Freak didn't have to be alone again!' She searched for hours and hours looking for someone. She didn't know who. She just knew that when she saw her picture, read her story, that she would know for sure who her new and only friend would be. Mercy found many poor children just like her. Most didn’t have it as bad as her, but some …. some had it much, much worse. 'Ryan and Cassidy both would beat freak at least a little, nearly every day but at least they never touched freak in any “bad places”.' The mere thought, sent goose bumps of pure terror up and down Mercy's arms and back. Mercy must have gone through hundreds of profiles, and not just in America. There were some in Canada, Spain, and even China, to name just a few. After going through about a thousand or so, she picked one. “Freak's best friend is called Anika.” From the smile on Mercy's face you could tell that in her head, she picked only the very best one. “When people found out about my abuse the copers came, and everyone got in trouble. Not one person, in my tiny town, wasn’t affected in some way. Abuse has a funny way of reaching everyone, Even if they don't like to think about it; kind of like a cold.” She wrote to Mercy. Almost immediately, Mercy had come to admire Anika. And came to look to her as a big sister and mentor in life. ' Anika emailed again today. She told Freak that she wrote a book about her abuse. She said that 'I've gotten many letters from others. They said that my book gave them the courage to go to the police and get justice for their abuse' Mercy thought long on this letter. She began fooling with an idea that she never would have considered. Well, at least before Anika came along. 'Freak's friend was a part of a special group, and Freak wanted to join really badly! Anika told Freak no though, for the first time ever! She told Freak in her kind, gentle Anika voice that I had to 'tell'. Freak could only join if she told.' Mercy worried and stressed over it for days. Cassidy and Ryan didn’t seriously hurt her either during this time. She only got light bruises; which was rare. Before Mercy would have been ecstatic, grateful and thankful, but now she could not be. She knew a better way thanks to Anika. She never wanted to go back. She realized, ‘Freak doesn’t have to either; not anymore'. With that hope clinging to her very being, she ran to the library. Without stopping even once despite her red hair flying in the wind, smacking her face. Despite the cutting wind lashing harshly against her blue-gray eyes. She raced to the computer and her fingers flew like a hawk across the keyboard, and she leant back in the red padded chair completely exhausted and spent. No doubt satisfied. She just sat there, and stared at her accomplishment, the words on the screen saying “Anika, Freak accepts. Freak will tell anyone you need Freak to. Just tell Freak what to do. Message sent.” The next day, Mercy sat very still, and quiet as though petrified in her bomb-shelter. She both saw, and heard the flashing lights, and sirens. 'Please let Anika be right. Please let this turn out right. ' Peaking around her bomb-shelter's door, she could see Cassidy and Ryan being led away in chains. All should be perfect; Mercy is finally safe. 'But Freak is so very frightened even without them here, Freak just doesn’t know of what.' Suddenly, out through the blinding lights of the cars, walks a silhouette towards Mercy. At first she freezes, but then when she sees purple hair, and light blue eyes she completely relaxes. Her expression instantly lifts into one of blissful happiness. Like an angel, she reaches out to grab Mercy's tiny hand, and whispers to her “Let’s go. It will get better Meme I swear it to you. It truly does”. Anika's group really did help Mercy a lot. In some ways Anika was right, things truly got much better for little Mercy. Now Mercy can talk without referring to herself as freak. She is a proud, young girl in honor classes. Her name is Mercy McCale; Anika adopted her when she turned eighteen and gave her last name to her. When she writes, a lot of the time, she refers to herself as freak, but most of the time, she is just Mercy. Here is a rare instance of perfect clarity that she wanted to tell you. That she wanted to tell to the world. “My name is Mercy I escaped my bomb-shelter a year ago. I will never go back to my shelter. It trapped me, instead of protecting me. I escaped! Now help me be like Anika; help yourself be like Anika. Find other so-called “Freaks”. Help break their cages, like Anika broke mine.”
© 2012 Emily Dickinson Jr. All rights reserved © 2013 Emily Dickinson Jr.Author's Note
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Emily Dickinson Jr.FLAboutIm just a highschool girl. Writing is my hobby and I think Im fairly good at it but I leave you to be the judge of that. :-) my best short stories are: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/poisinros.. more..Writing
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