Blown Away

A short story about about a young girl who is bullied and abused.

She looked in the mirror, disgusted by what she saw. Fat, ugly, unwanted were the words that came to mind. A magazine lay strewn across the counter, turned to a page with a flawless model. A perfect body was on the page, but a perfect body was not what she saw staring back at her. Her stomach churned as she looked from the page to her body. Why can’t I look like her she thought, running her fingers across the page. Her fingers glided across a warm wet drop on the paper, she touched her face; warm salty drops of water touched the tips of her fingers. She heard yelling coming from downstairs. Her stomach dropped, and her heart pounded.

          “When will you learn?” Her father screamed.

          “I’m sorry, I really am.” Her mother cried, “Please just don’t hurt me.” He was drunk as always. She knew all too well of the hell her mother was about to endure. Amanda imagined her mother’s frail body, being beaten. Her weak frame would break under his fists. She walked down the stairs, fear clutching her stomach. Everything told her to turn back, but she had to protect her mother. Her mom spotted her first, she glanced at Amanda with pleading eyes. Amanda shook her head, she was not going to let her mother take this.

          “What are you doing down here?” He said with a sickening smile. All Amanda wanted to do was run back up the stairs. She looked at her mom, laying on the ground. She was covered in bruises already, tears streamed down her cheeks.

          “Amanda, you don’t have to do this.” She cried, “Just go back upstairs.”

          “Your mother’s right, just go back up the stairs and pretend nothing ever happened.” Her father said with an almost calming tone.

          “Leave mom alone.” She stuttered, looking down. Her father took three steps toward her. Amanda fell to the ground, in fear, her head pounding. He picked her up by her hair and beat her head against the wall.

          “I’ll show you to disobey me.” Her father screamed. Through her blurred vision, Amanda saw her mom dart up the stairs into safety. Her father dropped her to the ground and smacked her across the face. A small trickle of blood drained out her mouth. Her body screamed in pain as he re-hit her arms, legs and head. To finish it off, he kicked her in the side. A sharp pain shot through her side as she began to vomit blood.

          “That ought to teach you.” He muttered. She laid in her blood and vomit for several hours, until she finally had the strength to pull herself off the ground. She crawled up the stairs into her bathroom and started the shower. After undressing herself, she stepped into the hot stream of water. The dry crusted on blood slowly rinsed out of her hair, the water felt so good on her sore body she didn't want to get out. When she was all cleaned off she dried off, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her thin, wet blond hair barely touched her shoulders. Her face was adorned with small freckles, especially over her nose, which was slightly on the small side. It wasn’t down turned nor upturned more of an in between. Her eyes were a soft almost pale blue, they were exceedingly small and semi inset. Her eyelashes naturally were extremely curly and long, but they were also blonde and invisible. Her lips were narrow, and her mouth as a whole was unusually small. Though she did not often smile, her teeth were the color of a whitish pearl, and partially straight. She glanced at her body. Her breast were not tiny but certainly not large. She had an odd birthmark to the right of her belly button, it resembled a bird her mom would say. Her legs were long and lanky like her arms. Both were covered in bruises cuts, and scars. She looked at the clock it was 11. She had to go to school tomorrow. She slipped in her pajamas and laid in her bed, imagining a time before all this chaos. Soon she slipped off into a deep sleep, her favorite place to be.

That night she dreamed of her favorite memory. It was Christmas morning she was four years old. Her father was sober, and had not yet introduced them to the rage of his fists. She ran down the stairs to see a floor full of presents, of many different shapes and sizes. Her mom and dad were sitting on the couch with their morning coffee. The air smelt of a delicious pancake and egg breakfast. She ran up to the tree, yelling.

          “Santa was here, Santa was here.”

“Yes, darling.” Her father replied. She sat in front of the tree and started to rip up presents, until she got to the very last one. Could this be it she thought?  She slowly peeled away at the paper. BEEP, BEEP, BEEP Amanda was pulled out of the dream world back into her dismal reality by her alarm  clock. This morning everything was quiet, she did not dare to question this peace. She got up and prepared for school, narrowly making it to the bus. She made it through most of the day with minimal torment. Finally, it was 7th period, she walked down the stairs to the bus stop and waited. The bus pulled up to the school, and Amanda thought she might actually make it until Andrea and her “clan” came prancing up.

          “?" Katlin taunted. Amanda tried to ignore her and kept walking towards the bus. Tears fell from her eyes onto the pavement.

          “Hey cry baby, whatcha gunna do, run home and tell mommy?” Ethan yelled at Amanda.

          “You must have been born on a highway, cause thats where most accidents happen.” Kaitlin said.

          “Why don’t you just go kill yourself, nobody loves you anyways!" Andrea sneered. Ethan picked up a small rock and threw it at her. Amanda snapped anger swelled through her body, boiling her blood. She spun around and took off full speed for Andrea. Amanda pushed her onto the ground and punched her face again and again. Katlin came up behind her and pulled Amanda off Andrea pulling, her to the ground. Andrea got up and kicked Amanda repeatedly in the side while Kaitlin sat on top of her and punched her. After about ten minutes the girls left.Amanda pulled her bruised broken body off the ground. She had missed the bus so, she had to walk home. Thankfully her home was only a mile away. When she got home, she slowly opened the door. Sure enough, her dad was sitting on the couch. She quietly and quickly passed behind the chair, she was seconds from the stairwell when she heard a voice.

          “Amanda.” Her dad called, “Come here.” Her heart stopped and her stomach dropped. She slowly advanced towards  her dad.

          “Dad please don’t hurt me.” She cried sinking back into her skin.

          “Why would I hurt you sweetie, I love you." He said. Amanda stood in front of him shaking.

          “Come here baby.” He said. Amanda slowly moved towards him. He stuck his arms out, she instantly flinched backwards. Her body consumed with fear.

          “No, it’s okay, I promise.” He coxed. Again she moved forward. He carefully wrapped his arms around her into a hug. Amanda’s fear started to melt as she felt tears well up in her eyes. Her father kissed her forehead and lightly stroked her back. By now the tears were rapidly falling. She looked into her dad’s blue eyes, they were not bloodshot.

          “Daddy, are you drunk?” She asked.

          “No honey I’m very sober.” He assured.

          “I love you daddy.” She cried.

          “I love you too.” Amanda snuggled up to her father and fell asleep. Several hours later Amanda woke up alone on the couch. She sat up and looked around.

          “Dad!” She called. No answer, he must have gone back out to the bar. She sighed, she knew that it could not last for long. She trudged up the stairs.

          “Mom, mom are you here?” She called while walking towards her mother’s door.

          “Mom!” She called again somewhat worried. Still no answer.

          “Mom!” She yelled as she flung open the door and ran in.

          “MO-” She dropped to her knees with a giant knot in her stomach. Tears took over her eyes, spilling out on the floor around her. In front of her lay the most gruesome sight she had ever seen. Her mother lay in a bath full of blood, her arms floating in the water, adorn with two large slices over her main arteries. On the floor near the tub lay a neatly type letter covered in blood droplets. Amanda picked up the note, it read:

Amanda Sweetie, I love you so much. I’m leaving you because I can not bear to live anymore. My body aches, my mind is far gone. I have spent hours thinking about my decision and I will miss you with all my heart. Your father has finally gotten to me; I can not take it anymore. This is the end. Take care of yourself.

Love, mommy

When she finished reading, she let the tear covered note slip through her fingers. She felt overwhelmingly sick as she stared at her mother’s corpse laying in the bathtub. Her thin frail frame, long curly blond hair, sea green eyes all lifeless, dead. She folded up the note and shoved it in her pocket. She was angry and upset, in great pain, pain greater that a beating. She walked down the hall into her room, laid on her bed and cried. For hours upon hours the warm salty water poured from her eyes, until she fell asleep. Around seven a.m. she woke up, a plan clogging her mind. She reached her hand under the mattress and pulled out a handgun belonging to her father. She placed it in her backpack, and raced out towards the bus. First, Second, and third period passed until it was finally lunch. Amanda walked towards the outdoor courtyard where she saw them eating lunch. She pointed the gun at the three students frozen in fear. Andrea, Ethan, and Kaitlin’s lives hung in the balance.

          “Sweet, sweet revenge.” Were the last words the students heard. Three shots rang through the school. Screams of the people who heard consumed the school. Then a fourth shot rang out. Police rushed in finding four dead students. One with a gun covered in bruises and emotional scars, the one who was now free. Three who did not stop to think what they had done, who they had hurt. Everything was blown away.

 

THREE DAYS LATER:

 

Many people stood at her grave, there to mourn a life ended too soon. There was one person who mourned the most. A tall men stood alone in black. No one dared approach him, not even look at him. He sobbed, pain violently attacking his heart.

          “I’m sorry.” He moaned as they lowered her coffin into the grave. He tossed a pink rose on to the coffin and said his final goodbyes. Every year, twice a year, he visited her grave, on her birthday and anniversary of her death. Every visit he came with more progress.

          “I haven’t drank in six months.” He would tell her.

          “I haven’t drank in a year.” He would claim. From heaven she would watch his progress with pride. Years later when he visited her, he did not come alone. Next to him stood a beautiful woman.

          “Honey, I would like you to meet my wife, Stephanie.” He said.

          “Stephanie, this is my daughter Amanda.” Together they set a bouquet of pink roses on her grave.

          “Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Thanks to you, I am a new man.” Tears began to  well up in his eyes, as he kneeled to kiss her grave. He stood up, took the hand of his wife and walked away. He could almost swear he heard her voice

          “I love you daddy.” It said.

          “I love you too.” He whispered.

 

 

Author's Note

I know the insults in the middle are stupid, I had better ones but I lost the copy. I want to know if you think this could be professionally published.