Whipped Into Shape

This is a short story about a fourteen year-old girl, Jenique. She lives a hard life.

She knew it was time to send them back. The caterpillars softly wiggled in her

hand, spelling out "goodbye". Jenique felt a tear roll down her cheek, but she

furiously wiped it away with her free hand. No one was to see her like this, crying

over some caterpillars she'd caught in her backyard. Well, she hadn't really

caught them. She had found them as eggs on a maple leaf. Jenique had taken

them home with her, but she hid the eggs from the world. If anyone knew about

this, she would be closer to death than she already was.

These caterpillars were what had kept her alive these past weeks. She knew

the caterpillars needed her for their survival, and in a small, strange way, she

needed them, too. She had almost jumped off the bridge the day she found the

caterpillar eggs. All because of Mother and Father and that mean girl at school,

Annd Freeman. Mother and Father were even crueler than Anne. Jenique hated

to say it, but she would rather endure Anne's taunting and kicking and enslaving

than be around her parents.

Jenique watched as Oscar, her fuzzy, black and yellow striped caterpillar, spell

out a 'y' as Alphonse spelled out an 'e'. She would kiss oscar and Alphonse. They

were the ones she could trust her many secrets with, and she somehow knew

they were always listening to her words. No one else listened to her.

Jenique finally set Oscar and Alphonse down in the soft grass. She would miss

them terribly. Jenique walked up to the back porch, up the stairs, and through the

back door. She stopped and cringed, waiting for what she knew would come.

"Get me another bottle, right now, you useless girl! Hurry up, don't keep me

waiting, you ungrateful child!"

Jenique obeyed her father without a word and went to the new icebox in the

corner of the dirty, stained kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of Corona and hurried

upstairs to Mother pandora Father's room. If she was fast enough, Father

wouldn't giver her a lashing. But he must have been in a bad mood. He took his

belt as soon as she walked in the door and hit her. Hard.

Jenique fought her tears and ignored the pain in her back as best she could.

She could not show that she was weaker than they already thought she was.

Jenique knew her mother was in the washroom, applying her makeup and styling

her hair even though she never went outside the house except to party at the

Downtown Club with Father in Saturdays. Father didn't work on the weekends.

Jenique's mother was a fairly attractive woman, and you'd never believe she

was a drinker at a first glance. Jenique had inherited her father's black hair and

her mother's pale skin, slim fingers, and jade eyes. But Jenique's once-smooth

skin was now covered in bruises and scars from her father's belt lashings.

Jenique had to wear sweaters and pants to conceal them, even in the summer.

But the summers weren't even that hot, considering the fact that the Haddix

family lived just outside of London. But Jenique could not let anyone see what

she endured every day. Especially Anne Freeman, the most popular girl at

Woodford Middle School. She was even more popular than the coolest kids ini

the seventh and sixth grades, Louisa Smith and Carrie Jones. And not only was

Anne the most popular girl at Woodford, as an eighth grader, she held power

over everyone, including the teachers.

Everyone knew that Anne's parents were the founders and owners of Freeman

Films, a billion pound film production company. Anne's family had billions of

pounds in their Swiss bank accounts, and they got richer every year. Anne made

that clear to all the students at Woodford.

Jenique turned and left her parents' room to go to her boudoir to finish her

school studies and work. She had to work fast, because she needed to get more

cereal for breakfast. The supermarket closed at 22:00pm and it was getting later

by the minute. It would take at lease three hours to so her school work.

Often during the three and a half hours it took her to do her homework, Jenique

looked at the empty bowl that had once contained Oscar and Alphonse. The

glass dish seemed so empty now even though the sticks and leaves and grass

were still there. Now Jenique had no one to talk to. She wouldn't be able to tell

her secrets to anyone anymore. She wouldn't receive the feeling of a day's -

maybe a week's or a life's - burden being lifted off her bony shoulders. Jenique

would give anything it have that feeling now. But what would be even better

would be to have a family who loved her, got her Christmas gifts, cared for her.

Jenique knew all about Christmas. It was a holiday where children received gifts

under a tree decorated with lights and ornaments. A mythical man named Santa

Clause came during the night of the twenty fourth and supposedly dropped the

gifts under the tree.

Jenique had never gotten a Christmas gift before. Not even one. But she knew

that was to be expected from parents like hers. But the thought of having a loving

family one day was the one tiny hope Jenique held in her heart, a hope that had

been chained up and locked away until Oscar and Alphonse had come into her

life. With the caterpillars, Jenique didn't have to keep everything inside. She

could whisper her feelings and thoughts to Alphonse and Oscar. But she had to

whisper so Mother and Father wouldn't hear her and get mad.

At the market, Jenique got some ice for the icebox - the Haddix family was too

pro to afford a refrigerator and Mother and Father hated their bottles hot - a box

of cereal, and a carton of milk. All for one pound. Jenique knew where and how

to get the best deals. And she knew the head cashier, Tristan Jacobs. Tristan

knew she was bullied at school, so that's why he cut her some slack very often.

But he didn't know any more than that. She never told him about her parents. But

Jenique could tell he had his suspicions.

Once Jenique turned the block and onto her street, Wickwood Avenue, she

could sense something wrong immediately. There was no one in the street or on

the sidewalks. Not a sound was to be heard. Then a sudden crack of thunder

echoed through the humid air. Jenique looked up at the cloudy gray sky and as

she did, a drop of rain splashed onto her cheek, dripping down her neck and

plopping onto the road. She began run with the bags from the market in her

hands.

Jenique ran down the street to the dirty, windowless, crumbling house she lived

in and dashed up the front stairs. She unlocked the door with her copper key and

stepped inside. Making a haste to shut the door, she closed it behind her back

and grabbed two bottles from the icebox. She dashed upstairs and handed them

to Mother and Father. Being bold for once, Jenique left her parents' room and

went to her own, not waiting for her father to get his belt ready for a lashing.

She'd had enough pain today.

But, as she expected, Clay Haddix came storming into her boudoir with his

black belt in hand. Jenique knew she had angered him mighty well this time. The

black belt was the hardest and made the worst bruises. Jenique closed her eyes,

held her breath, and braced herself for the pain that would overtake her. She

knew very well that Clay would not stop until he saw blood. Until her skin split

open. And she could not, and would not, shed a single tear. Not one.

When it was all over half an hour later, and Clay had left the room, Jenique

used all her strength to get up and close the door. Then she sat on the edge of

her raggedy bed and wept. She made sure to keep quire about it, or else Mother

and Father would become even angrier. Father would certainly come in her

boudoir again and take his belt if he heard here crying. And Carolina Haddix

wouldn't do many thing about it, as usual.

Jenique dragged herself to the washroom next to her room and silently closed

the door. She reached behind her back and clicked the rusty lock. She was safe,

at lease for now. Clay wouldn't waste his black belt on an old yet sturdy door.

Jenique brushed her fingertips against her sore back and felt a sharp stung.

She winced, and even though this was a daily routine of hers - it had become

daily two years ago, once she had started middle school - she was still not used

to pain.

Jenique brought her fingers to the small candle beside the disgusting sink and

saw fresh red blood. She reached over to her left and picked up a dirty rag.

Wiping away most of the blood, she closed her eyes and let the coldness of the

cloth numb her back. Another scar that would take months to heal.

A tiny thought crossed her mind and she tiptoed down the stairs and out the

front door, making sure to close it behind her. The rain and thunder had stopped,

but the whole town of Woodford was still under an ominous, cloudy, dark night

sky. The dead grass was wet and full of moisture under Jenique's feet.

"Jenique Clarissa Haddix, get in here right now! Stop acting like you're two, you

haven't been two for ten years!" Clay's voice boomed. His yell was even louder

than the cracks of thunder that came so very often during e year. Jenique

muttered to herself, "I'm fourteen, Father, I was twelve in the sixth and seventh

grades." But Clay couldn't hear her. He was stomping and storming about his

room, complaining about how lazy his only daughter was.

Jenique entered the house and grabbed two bottles out of the icebox. She ran

upstairs and handed one to Mother and one to Father. Mother was still styling her

hair in front of the mirror in the washroom. Father had paid for that looking glass

a year ago with his first paycheck from the Sybolline Factory in London. Jenique

had to work to cover all the other costs that the family needed. Clay and Carolina

spent Jenique's hard-earned money - and all of Clay's, too - on beer, drugs, and

other useless, stupid things they were addicted to. Jenique always swore she

would never, ever be like them if she lived long enough to become a parent.

Jenique, thank God, was dismissed by Clay. She had had enough lashings for

the day, and even he knew it. Jenique trodden back to her boudoir and say on

the edge of the bed. It was midnight now. She eased back into a lying position

and forced her eyes closed. Her eyelids soon became very heavy and somehow,

she was able to fall asleep.

Five hours later, she awoke to the song of the birds. Dragging herself - her limp,

exhausted self - out of what would hardly pass as a bed, she readied herself for

school.

Author's Note

I know I haven't posted anything in a while, but I've been working on some stuff.
I haven't finished this story yet, and I'm hoping to continue it soon. :)

Reviews

[Scarlett]

It's so sad that only two caterpillers kept her alive. This story sounds interesting. You should change it into a book. It would be nice and long and there might even be a happy ending for her. It's really your choice. I liked this story.

[Marie]

I'd suggest you throw out everythig except the caterpillars and work with those. They're interesting.

[Essa G]

So I should rewrite the whole story?

[Marie]

I've only given you my opinion. I think abuse is boring. But caterpillars that can spell out words are cool.