Revision: 9 March 2010

This chapter was rewritten in its entirety. Further revisions will be made when I have the energy. If you want to see the original of this chapter, you can request!

Disclaimer: I don't own iCarly, but I'll gladly do whatever the hell I like with it, within the legal boundaries of 'fair use'. Eat your heart out, Nickelodeon.

Defenceless

Scena I: In 2001

Help me. Help me!

"...thump...thump!...THUMP!!..."

The floors shake. I tremble.

"...Thump!...THUMP!!..."

She's coming up the stairs. It's ten past midnight.

"...Samantha..."

Oh, oh my god. She's drunk again.

"Sh-samantha!"

*sob* Oh god! I better hide before she gets here.

"THUMP!!,,,THUMP!!!"

I run. I grab a big pillow, duck behind the couch, and hug it tight against my chest.

I sob quietly. I shake violently. *sob* I feel...cold. Help me. Help me!!

I brace myself.

"...SAMANTHA!!"

BOOM. I hear the door fly open and smash into the wall behind it. It splinters and creaks in pain. Planks fall on the floor; they sound like tock-tocks. There goes another door.

My momma storms into our little grey apartment. I sneak a peek from behind the couch. She stands there at the doorway, teetering on the spot. Her eyes are crossed; her hair in a tangled mess, her dark pink dress in disarray; a small glass bottle hangs precariously at the tips of her fingers. And I bet she smells like beer again. I hate her. I hate her. She is not my momma!

...But she is my momma. She with cold fire in her eyes, and murder in her heart.

*sob* Help me! God, help me! P-please!!

The glass bottle slips out of her hand, and crashes onto the floor. It breaks into a million pieces all over the place. (The sound woke her up?) She glares around the living room once. Twice.

"SAMANTHA! Where are you!? COME OUT NOW!!"

What sounds of the devil! What horror! The shrieking bellows of a drunken...

"SAMANTHA!! Don't make me come get you!"

I cry. Quietly. I shut my eyes and keep them tightly closed. I tremble and sweat like never before.

"...Here I come..."

She whispers. I know I'm done for when she whispers. I hear her prowling around the kitchen, then the bedrooms. I bite the pillow hard, to stop myself screaming. Ugh, I hate her! I want to die!!

"Gone...just like your father..."

I hate him! I hate him too!! I hate you all!!!

I barely stifle a loud gasp for air. I can't breathe. I hurt, I cry, I shake; I'm lying behind the couch hugging a cushion in a pathetic attempt to hide myself. I have nothing. I am defenceless.

Please God, please end this...Seriously. End this.

"...there you are..."

I feel a hand close around the scruff of my neck. I feel the shock of my heart stopping. My lungs just fainted. Oh god, she found me. Now I'm going to die. There's no running away.

I can smell the stench of beer. Cold fingernails bite my flesh. I felt the hand lift me up on my feet. I comply; like an ass, I rise gingerly. I keep my head down, staring at a pair of woman's feet. Dirty lilac stockings, two weeks ripe.

"Hiding?"

I want to scream. I can't stop trembling; I can't breathe, can't talk.

"Stop crying."

SMACK.

I taste blood. Blood is coming out of my nose and mingling with the tears and mucus on my face.

"Stop." SMACK.

It burns.

"N-n-no, mom-m-ma. I...I...st-stop...*sniff*... c-ca-can't..."

"STOP IT!"

She whacks me on the left temple. She hit me so hard I almost fell over. I wail, and start crying aloud.

"Stop. Stop. Shut. Up."

"I...*gasp* I try...*sniff*...I...st-stop *gasp*"

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

"LAIR! JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER!!"

She hits me in the face with an iron fist, swung from arm muscles made of steel rope. I scream in horror, as stars instantly blind me for a long moment. The savage blow knocks me onto the floor. I hit my head against ceramic tile, and lay down, unwilling to stand back up.

"I'LL TEACH YOU A LESSON, YOU USELESS – (she slaps me in the face), WRETCHED – (she slaps me on the other cheek), THING!! (she hits me a third time)"

I peer through bloody eyelids for a second. She is red as the Devil. Her nostrils flare and exhale beer-soaked vapours. Her mouth is askew, and her face a twisted evil yet pain, like someone being tortured by fire. This is not the face of my mother. I am being raped by a monster I don't know.

Momma is breathing heavily.

"You...are...ruining...my...LIFE!!"

With the last syllable, she hoists me up to my knees, so that I kneel before her, arms dangling loosely by the side, head bowed. I am a pathetic creature, weak, fragile, very, very tiny. I am defenceless.

"Say...it...Say you ruin my life!"

I keep crying.

"SAY IT, DAMN YOU!!"

Momma, I didn't do it! I didn't!

"STUPID BRAT! FILTH! FILTH, JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER!"

A drop of spit lands on my forehead. It burns like acid.

"I...*gasp*...I – "

"YOU WHAT?! SELFISH BRAT! IT'S ALWAYS ABOUT YOU, IS IT!? Why won't you think of others? Huh? WHY WON'T YOU THINK OF ME?!"

"I...*gasp*...s-sorry...*sniff*"

"Why must I keep living, and serve you?! LIKE A DOG!!"

She slaps me again. I scream. Suddenly three loud knocks come from the ceiling and ring through the still night air. The neighbours upstairs have been awoke.

"Say you're sorry!" she roars.

"Mm-ma...I...*sniff*...sorry..."

"SAY IT!"

"S-s-sorry...momma...*sniff* I...*sniff* love you..."

"Say it again!"

"I love you...*gasp* I...*sniff* sorry."

She backs away a little. I continue to whimper and sob, like an injured animal.

"...And what are you sorry for?"

"For...*sniff*... ruining your life..."

"And will you do it again?!" she growls.

"I-I won't d-do it ag-gain...I *gasp* love y-you..."

I quieten down. My mother is calm now. She stands up, coughs and retches a little.

"I taught her a good lesson..."

She staggers away, not bothering to throw off her badly stained pashmina, into the red bedroom. I stay where I am, not daring to moving. Then there is the sound of a large body collapsing on a springy, old mattress.

I get on my fours very slowly, still sobbing, still shaking. My body aches like it had just been beaten. The world suddenly seems blurry and distant. I hear deep rumbling noises of a sleeping giant like from a mile away. I see grey......I knew it! I'm going to die.

"In nomine patris..."

I want to disappear. I want oblivion. I can't move. Lord, free me.

"...et filii..."

I try to crawl onto my bed. Every muscle in me screams in protest. I can't go on; I lose my strength. The last teardrop makes its descent onto my bedsheet. I lay my head on the mattress, my legs under me. At least half of me made it to the bed.

"...et Spiritus Sancti..."

I see, peering through eyelashes, a growing pool of red before me. I don't care anymore. My eyes flutter, then shut. I moved no more.

Good night.

"Amen."


Note: March 2010 revision has toned down the language - all that unnecessary vocabulary – to achieve a more childlike POV, which is more appropriate in this situation. (The numerous linguistic errors are, in fact, intended.) I hope readers who have read the previous edition will appreciate this one. Still not sure how it turned out, though.

And by the way...do you think it's a good idea to write a narrative recount in the present tense?

Terrorking Tragedian