This book is mostly from Lucy's perspective.*
People often view storms as a curse, but I see It as a blessing. Between the pouring rain that drowns out noise, and the blowing wind that carries it away, I don't have to worry about muffling my screams as my Father inflicts wound after wound on my body. He always beats me until I'm barely breathing, never failing to stop before my heart can.
He wasn't always like this, I think. Though faintly, I can remember a time when he was kind. But as I lie on the ground, surrounded by broken bottles and blood, I begin to wonder if such a memory was simply a projection of my desires. Though such thoughts may seem absurd, I'm sure anyone would begin to doubt their past recollections of happiness if they had been suffering from abuse since the age of seven.
It began around the time my Mother died. She had been suffering from a mental illness at the time and it had drove her to the breaking point. Even now I could clearly picture it, her pale feet swaying gently a few inches above the snow-covered ground. A rope hung from a tall birch tree, wrapped firmly around her neck. Wearing nothing but a pale white nightgown, she had seemed far too fragile to be real.
A few days after her death, I had asked my grief-stricken Father why Mother had wanted to leave. That was when he snapped. He pulled me by the hair, and dragged me to our storage room. Grabbing an old belt from one of the boxes he tied it to a hook on the wall, tightened the belt around my neck, and let me fall. Luckily, the hook had broken after a two or three minutes, unable to withstand my weight. But even now, a faint mark still circles my neck from where the belt strangled me.
He didn't attempt to hang me again, he simply began to abuse me in other ways. A smash of a bottle against my head, a circular burn-mark on my thigh, and a lot of beating. Such actions occurred continously throughout the years. A decade has passed since then, and though today was no different from yesterday, I still pray to see the light of tomorrow.
So. This was shorter than I though It would be... But hey, I finally wrote a chapter. Well, a prologue but that still counts right?... Right? *sigh* I sincerely respect all writers as of now. Which technically means I didn't respect them before... oops?
Sorry, had to edit it. My absurd use of commas pissed me off.