Age 7

Mommy tucked a purple and blue striped lunch box in my hands and spun me around. My blond pigtails swished about my head and I giggled. Mommy was in more of a rush than usual today, and today she was trusting me with walking to the bus stop by myself. The stop wasn't far, just four houses down to the right. I was seven, a first grader, and could do this by myself, even if Mommy did worry.

I think worrying is Mommy's hobby. She likes to worry about everything. She bites her nails when she does, and now she has no nails. When Auntie calls, Mommy talks about work and her new boss, the bills, price of things, and other things I don't quite understand yet. But that's why I go to school, to learn things. Mommy says I'm a smart girl, that I will do just fine when I grow up. I plan to do more than fine though, I plan to live so fine that Mommy and I won't have to worry about anything.

Mommy blew air kisses to me and shut the door behind me. I hopped the three steps leading from the front porch to the sidewalk. On my way down the sloping sidewalk, I picked up the prettiest leaves. The red ones were cool but my favorite was the golden-almost-orange ones. I passed the pumpkins we carved last night and smiled. My pumpkin had a smiley face with pointed teeth, Mommy made her's have tears while it laughed. Tomorrow night, for Halloween, I get to trick-or-treat with Jenny as zombie twins. Her house is right next to mine. Passing her driveway, I could count the nine pumpkins by the door. Six were carved, the other three were too small. I was so excited for another year of Halloween, and Mrs. Patterson, my teacher, was throwing a two-day in class party for us.

I skipped my way to the end of the street and looked around me. I was by myself. Jenny rode to school with her mom who taught the sixth graders. To keep myself from getting too bored I started to gather the leaves at my feet into a pile. There was a slight breeze that made it slightly difficult, but all the more fun.

I looked up when I heard a pair of footsteps stop close by me. There was a guy, about Jenny's oldest brother's age, out of highschool, crouching in front of me. His smile was nice. White, straight teeth. I think that smile made me trust him. Bad guys don't have smiles like that, or smile at all. They just sneer and spit and look mean. But not this guy, he seemed so nice. "It's boring waiting out here by yourself, isn't it?" He asked me, looking me in the eyes with his likeable smile. I was too shy to answer him out loud so I just gave a small nod, not talking my eyes off his face and his caramel colored eyes. "I am waiting for my friend to call, and I saw you waiting by yourself too, and I thought 'why don't we wait together?'" I smiled back at this. He seemed like a good person and he didn't sound crazy.

At my smile, he offered his hand. "Wouldn't want to lose my new friend, now would I?" A friend? Mommy always told me I need to make friends with more people. That I was too shy. I placed my tiny hand in his and that was it. My fate was sealed.

Age 8

By the time of Halloween, one year later, I had had each of my arms broken once. My right one broke in a failed attempt to run away, the left broken to serve as punishment for it. I hurt my ankle from falling on it wrong. I was trying to get a window open but fell back instead. I haven't said anything about my ankle otherwise he may just break it. My eyes have started to go bad. I have to get pretty close to things to read them. When I said I needed glasses I got slapped. I know he hates when I "talk out of turn" but something in my refuses to let the pain stop me. Maybe Mommy was wrong. Maybe I'm not a smart girl. He keeps calling me an idiot.

Age 9

Bruises aren't something I notice anymore. Something always hurting.

There's this big dude who comes into my little room in the basement every other day or so, and teaches me. He teaches math and science, and sometimes history. When I get answers wrong he hits me. The idea that he would hit me used to make me mad, now I know to know the right answer. I once asked him if he would teach me English as well, the next time I saw him had brought me a bunch of chapter books with big words. Told me to read those if I wanted to learn English.

The one who picked me up couldn't care less if I knew how to read. He called me an idiot among other things. Some of the insults I don't know, some I do and pretend I don't. He is around less, but when he is, he usually is in a bad mood. That smile of his that tricked me never showed up again.

Age 10

Instead of three years, it felt like ten. He had "introduced" me to several different people. He called me his pet. Something was sick about him. Something in his brain. He had moments of craziness. That's why the I met the other people. They wanted me to be the guinea pig to test the medicine on. Mommy would be proud to know I got over my fear of needles.

The big dude doesn't teach me as often. He still brings me books, and the books are getting bigger with the words getting smaller. If I hold the books at the right distance, the words won't be fuzzy. There's this girl I see around too. She is their age and likes to be at the center of attention. She is always finding a reason to mess with me. When I can, I avoid everyone. It's like a game of hide-and-seek for me.

Age 11

That medicine is bad. The voices don't stop. Ever. They never shut up. Even when I'm hungry or sick or in pain. I've tried to ignore them. I've even begged the voices to stop. I told his friends who are doctors but aren't about the voices. They just scribble it down and ignore me. When I told him, he started to chuckle, then laugh; he laughed until his sides hurt and he couldn't breathe. He clutched his sides and looked me in the eyes saying in raspy voice "finally someone hears them too!" That night I tried to sneak out. I got bitten by the dogs and my whole right arm swelled. I'm scared Mommy. I want to go home.

Age 12

One of his friends brought a girl in to tell me why I was bleeding. Apparently it was a normal thing for girls. Means I'm "on my way to being an adult". I don't want to be an adult. The cramps are painful and it's a mess to deal with. I would rather stay a kid forever. Only upside is that I haven't heard voices in two months now. Just one. The voice likes to chat with me. We talk about the books I've read and about Mommy. But when he is near me, the voice grows quite, like it iss scared too.

At least I have one friend here.

Age 16

We had to move to a new place after a surprise fire (that I started) burned down the old one. He go all pissed about it and complained and hit me over it. Blaming me on it, even when I know no one thought I could have started it. To them, I have become the thing mumbling to itself in the corner. I was nearly blind, in need of soap, and had a voice in my head as my friend. Even I could tell I was a freak. I lost my books, but I gained more privacy. I was in a room in the basement without any windows, and just one door. They threw me in there with the cardboard boxes left over from moving what was left un-burned from the old place, and shut the door. I get let out like a dog for the occasional bathroom trip and a meal usually twice a day. Life wasn't much but I could hide myself away in the boxes, building a small fortress where I could pretend I was queen and no one would dare touch me. That is, till someone decided to knock down the tower of boxes I built to protect myself. My sanctuary was fragile, I know, but it was all I had to me, it was all I wanted until that day.