For the Love of a Daughter
Unfortunately, even though this story is fictional in my life, it is very real for others.
I'd like to dedicate this story to my good friend who is in hospital because of something that could have been stopped. But wasn't.
I hope you understand the seriousness of this problem that too many people have to put up with every day of their lives. Please support anyone that is going through it and let them know that they have someone to trust.
Be the person who gives them a chance to live.
I watched the time slip away as my heart calmed.
It was the seventh day of the seventh month.
It was my birthday.
My sixteenth birthday.
My mind was suddenly filled with memories. The terror of yesterday. The beatings and the attempts that were made by my abusive father. A man that I hated with every inch of my starved, aching body. All of the pain was becoming real again. The pain that filled my life. The life I wish I didn't have and the life that I wanted to end.
"I hope you realize that this is your own fault!" he screamed at me, "You can't blame me for punishing you for doing wrong! One day, hopefully you'll realize you are a waste of everyone's time and space and you'll die!"
I could smell the alcohol in his rotten breath. I didn't cringe this time, I knew that would only get me another beating. No, this time I just kept my eyes on the ground and begged for it to end.
It never did.
He beat me crying, for hesitating after his horrifying questions, for avoiding his eyes, for trying to get away from his ugly shadow and for things I didn't understand.
I climbed out of my small bed and walked across my room to the mirror that hung crooked on my wall. I had whispered to God for a miracle. A miracle I knew, without a doubt, hadn't been fulfilled.
It was the bruises that were scattered across my pale skin that screamed the intimidating truth; that it had happened again.
Unfortunately, today was like every day; I had to go to school and lie to every person I held most dear. I had to smile and pretend I was normal, even though I knew I never would be, I had to become a completely different person.
I turned around and looked at my safe place.
My brown bed was almost the width of my room. Many of the drawers that were underneath it had broken, leaving them securely shut and a mystery of what was in them. I had arranged my gray and brown pillows so they were all over each other. Above it, sat three shelves, one on top of the other. They were packed with my books and stories.
The middle one held on of my most prized possessions; a picture of a lady whom I had never met, but a lady I called my best friend and my Mother. Her beautiful blue eyes welcomed me every single morning and no matter what had happened the evening past, I smiled at her beautiful face and never I had to do another day for her.
It was her beautiful face that got me through even the worst days. However, the day that came too quickly wasn't a day she could prepare me for.
Nothing could prepare me for the day.
Nothing could prepare me for the day that was my birthday.
The day I killed my father.
It was the seventh day of the seventh month.
It was my birthday.
My sixteenth birthday.
My mind was suddenly filled with memories. The terror of yesterday. The beatings and the attempts that were made by my abusive father. A man that I hated with every inch of my starved, aching body. All of the pain was becoming real again. The pain that filled my life. The life I wish I didn't have and the life that I wanted to end.
"I hope you realize that this is your own fault!" he screamed at me, "You can't blame me for punishing you for doing wrong! One day, hopefully you'll realize you are a waste of everyone's time and space and you'll die!"
I could smell the alcohol in his rotten breath. I didn't cringe this time, I knew that would only get me another beating. No, this time I just kept my eyes on the ground and begged for it to end.
It never did.
He beat me crying, for hesitating after his horrifying questions, for avoiding his eyes, for trying to get away from his ugly shadow and for things I didn't understand.
I climbed out of my small bed and walked across my room to the mirror that hung crooked on my wall. I had whispered to God for a miracle. A miracle I knew, without a doubt, hadn't been fulfilled.
It was the bruises that were scattered across my pale skin that screamed the intimidating truth; that it had happened again.
Unfortunately, today was like every day; I had to go to school and lie to every person I held most dear. I had to smile and pretend I was normal, even though I knew I never would be, I had to become a completely different person.
I turned around and looked at my safe place.
My brown bed was almost the width of my room. Many of the drawers that were underneath it had broken, leaving them securely shut and a mystery of what was in them. I had arranged my gray and brown pillows so they were all over each other. Above it, sat three shelves, one on top of the other. They were packed with my books and stories.
The middle one held on of my most prized possessions; a picture of a lady whom I had never met, but a lady I called my best friend and my Mother. Her beautiful blue eyes welcomed me every single morning and no matter what had happened the evening past, I smiled at her beautiful face and never I had to do another day for her.
It was her beautiful face that got me through even the worst days. However, the day that came too quickly wasn't a day she could prepare me for.
Nothing could prepare me for the day.
Nothing could prepare me for the day that was my birthday.
The day I killed my father.
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