My apologies for the length of time in between chapters. This has been a very hard chapter to write, as will be the next, the finale. There are so many paths for this story to take. So many ways for it to end. I imagine some of you have already thought of endings you would like to see. I believe I have chosen an ending that will be both appropriate to the subject matter and to the people reading it. In actuality I have written many endings. Which one I use, here, may not be the one I'd use elsewhere, or with a different group of readers. I can only say that it will not be as most expect.
The buildup, here, remains the same, no matter what ending I choose. So I am posting it now, a cutoff. I will post the ending soon, after thought has been given as to which to pick.
What do you imagine?
Hey Arnold and characters within do not belong to me.
One last time, a warning: If, somehow, you managed to make it to this chapter without realizing that this story is based around child abuse, I weep for you. Thus, I will neither take seriously any complaints over the subject matter, nor will I think much of your intelligence, although flames are always welcome. They amuse me.
"Retribution"
Fear. Anger. Loathing.
It seemed to be all she could feel anymore. Gone was everything good about her. All she had left was an empty shell and some hopeless, errant thoughts. She couldn't even dream anymore. Her writing had taken a very dangerous turn, and had slipped into a darkness even she could scarcely fathom. When she wrote at all, that is. It wasn't very often that she cared to write anymore. All she cared for now was oblivion, peace. A serenity that was so far out of reach she couldn't even remember its relevance. All she had left was the pain.
She had scared herself with her own thoughts. Nine-year-olds shouldn't be suicidal. After all, they had their whole lives in front of them. So much hope for the adults to place in them. So much trust.
So much room for disappointment.
When all was said and done, it didn't matter how old she was. Nine or ninety, Helga still had feelings. And she *felt* worthless. She *felt* useless and dirty. She *felt* depressed, and every so often she *felt* like she wanted to die.
Or at least never to have been born.
She wished for that more than anything anymore. In her mind she could see... Big Bob beaming with pride over the son he'd never had; Miriam actually coherent for once, watching her happy little family with her perfect daughter and young son; Phoebe - with a friend who wasn't Helga - happy and popular because the other kids weren't afraid to go near her; Arnold never having to fend off her endless taunts and pranks; and the rest of her classmates, as they were now, happy without her there to bully them.
Yes, she imagined, they all would have been better off without me. Better had I not existed.
But then, it was not all in her imagination. She felt she had justification. Her classmates didn't care that she wasn't around. They even liked it better. Her best friend was much better off without her. And after last night...
Her father hadn't at all been happy when he'd seen the bandage on her arm. He'd ripped it off in a fit of anger and had accused her of telling. She protested - loudly - but it had just infuriated him. He had hurt her, then, in anger, grabbing her by that same wrist and telling her everything that was wrong with her, punctuating each reason with another punch, slap or kick. That was as helpless as she'd ever been. Unable to move, unable to duck or deflect and of the blows, she was stuck taking everything just as it came. She'd thought he might kill her, then.
When he'd finally let go, bending to pick up something nearby, she'd bolted, running to her room and locking the door behind her. She stayed there, curled up in a ball on her bed, crying silently for half an hour as Bob cursed and pounded on her door, trying to break it down or take it off it's hinges, all the while fearing for a life she wasn't sure she even wanted anymore. The torture had finally ended when Bob got a call from his lackeys at the Beeper Emporium. He'd left her alone, but left calling out that she didn't deserve to live and should be very glad that she was his daughter and not a daughter to someone who'd kill her for being who she was.
That had left her cold and suddenly completely emotionless. She'd dragged her body from the bed. Aching and protesting all the while she'd forced her limbs to move, violently unloading all of her school work from her backpack, leaving it torn and broken on the floor. She proceeded to pack the flimsy bag with every last one of her poetry books and any other work she could find. She found some other bags - paper and plastic bags holding useless things around her room - and filled them with the remainder of her writings and anything that was most important to her. There wasn't much. She set the two bags by her door and went to bed for the night.
The next morning she found she was little more than a bruise. It didn't matter to her anymore, though, and she tuned out her body as she got ready for school. She did everything as she normally would have, save for bring along the bags she had filled the night before. Then she had started off for school, deviating from the path before she could meet anyone she knew.
She'd ended up at the docks, right where she wanted to be. She chose an old one, unstable and unused. Perfect. As she made her way out to the edge of the dock, she could feel it disintegrating under her feet. Rather appropriate metaphor for her life, she'd reflected, slightly amused at how detached she felt.
Finally she stood at the precipice. She stood a moment, surveying the water before her, then silently leaned down a caught one of her bags in her hands. Systematically she emptied the bag, taking each object one by one in her hands and looking at it a few moments before tossing it into the bay. She repeating the process over and over until she reached her writings.
She'd straitened then, letting all the feelings of doom, hatred and pain wash over her. Then she'd taken her first writing, on a loose sheet of paper, read it, ripped it down the middle, and tossed in away, watching the pieces flow into the wind for a few seconds before plunging into the water.
Carefully, purposefully, she did the same thing for each piece of writing she had brought with her. Sometimes reading them aloud in a scornful voice, sometimes reading them to herself sorrowfully, she kept at it. Every single thing she had ever written was going, piece by torn piece. Nothing she had ever done in her life had ever seemed as important as this moment. She was fully aware of the symbolism of this act and painfully aware of the decision that would follow. The most critical decision of her life. Live or Die? She had the power to do either, she just wasn't sure which one she wanted.
~~~
She hadn't shown up at school that day. All three of them were horribly disappointed. They'd had everything scripted down to the minutest detail. They knew just how they were going to stand around her, and just what motions they would make. They'd even practiced most of the night. Now they'd have to wait, anxiously, one more day.
Worse though, were their fears of what might have happened to prevent her from coming. Thoughts of this kind made all three alternately shiver through the entire first half of class.
It wasn't until recess that their fears were confirmed - more or less.
They were sitting, worriedly, dejectedly, behind the jungle gym, talking about her nervously, when they suddenly heard heavy breathing behind them. They turned as one to see Brainy shifting from side to side before them.
"Helga..." He wheezed, uncertain of their feelings towards her, "...docks..." Having run from the docks after following Helga there that morning, combined with his own apprehension about her condition made Brainy even more incomprehensible than normal. "...just hurry..."
The three exchanged a brief, fear filled look between them, then took off, out of school grounds. As fast as they could, they made their way towards the docks, never noticing that Brainy was no longer with them.
___
It was some time before they reached Helga. They hadn't known which dock Helga had been on, and Brainy was suddenly not there to help them. They'd wasted valuable time looking for her, time they all somehow sensed they could ill afford to lose. It was Gerald who finally spotted her, standing silently on one of the oldest docks, unmoving as a chill wind blustered about her. She was holding a single piece of paper in front of her, not seeming to notice the empty book jackets and gobs of white that littered the water before her. It was evident that she had put them there.
As they approached, (at top speed) Brainy finally made a reappearance, pulling along behind him the school psychiatrist. Together, they stood at the edge of the dock, knowing that the rotting planks of wood could collapse at any time, and would if too much more weight was put upon them. Helga was still holding the paper up in front of her.
"HELGA!" Phoebe screamed in panic.
Helga didn't appear to notice. Instead, she simply tore the paper in her hand into mid-sized shreds, and released them into the water. Then she stooped down and pulled another piece of paper from the pack at her feet, still oblivious to all around her, and repeated the process.
All the kids were yelling for Helga now, but she was either ignoring them, or somehow completely unaware that they were even there. Dr. Bliss noticed the remnants of her pink poetry books in the water and instantly recognized them for what they were. Not too long ago, she'd convinced Helga to share the contents of some of those books with her, and had been pleasantly surprised at the talent displayed in her writings. Seeing those books - and papers, which had almost certainly contained similar material - floating there ripped to pieces, Dr. Bliss suddenly had a sinking feeling she knew what was coming next. Children, and adults too to a much lesser extent, tended to act out with alarming symbolism.
Helga was ruining everything that was important to her, and destroying the things she was most passionate about. Symbolically she was destroying herself.
Dr. Bliss felt pure fear grip her heart.
Now empty, the backpack beside Helga was now pitched into the sea also. Now it was just Helga herself, alone on the empty old dock. *She's going to jump!*
Panic overrode Dr. Bliss's good sense, and she unconsciously blurted her thought aloud. Phoebe gave a gasping cry, and called out for Helga again. Gerald, worried, did the same, looking over at Dr. Bliss. Brainy surged forward, moving beside Arnold, who was staring at Helga as if he could pull her from the brink with sheer force of will.
"You... have to.... go. Get her." He wheezed softly, so that only Arnold could hear. "It has... to be you."
Arnold didn't respond for a moment, perhaps processing this bit of information. He shook his head once, then his jaw locked into place, and a look of pure determination set on his face.
Brainy moved backward as Arnold moved forward, towards the dock. Dr. Bliss started as he did so, and moved forward to stop him. Brainy intercepted her, gripping her arm. Surprisingly it was Phoebe who spoke up in his defense.
"Let him go. He's the only one who can get to her. The bridge can't support both you and Helga at the same time... besides, I think he may be the only one who can break through to her."
*Depths of blue and drops of green. Serene. Amid Turmoil. Coral among Sharks. Each wave working together, yet attaching nowhere and lying in nothing. Oh endless river of doom, Sapphire void. Is this to be my final resting place? Am I to sleep in your depths? If my world I am to place under your caress, What Then?*
The buildup, here, remains the same, no matter what ending I choose. So I am posting it now, a cutoff. I will post the ending soon, after thought has been given as to which to pick.
What do you imagine?
Hey Arnold and characters within do not belong to me.
One last time, a warning: If, somehow, you managed to make it to this chapter without realizing that this story is based around child abuse, I weep for you. Thus, I will neither take seriously any complaints over the subject matter, nor will I think much of your intelligence, although flames are always welcome. They amuse me.
"Retribution"
Fear. Anger. Loathing.
It seemed to be all she could feel anymore. Gone was everything good about her. All she had left was an empty shell and some hopeless, errant thoughts. She couldn't even dream anymore. Her writing had taken a very dangerous turn, and had slipped into a darkness even she could scarcely fathom. When she wrote at all, that is. It wasn't very often that she cared to write anymore. All she cared for now was oblivion, peace. A serenity that was so far out of reach she couldn't even remember its relevance. All she had left was the pain.
She had scared herself with her own thoughts. Nine-year-olds shouldn't be suicidal. After all, they had their whole lives in front of them. So much hope for the adults to place in them. So much trust.
So much room for disappointment.
When all was said and done, it didn't matter how old she was. Nine or ninety, Helga still had feelings. And she *felt* worthless. She *felt* useless and dirty. She *felt* depressed, and every so often she *felt* like she wanted to die.
Or at least never to have been born.
She wished for that more than anything anymore. In her mind she could see... Big Bob beaming with pride over the son he'd never had; Miriam actually coherent for once, watching her happy little family with her perfect daughter and young son; Phoebe - with a friend who wasn't Helga - happy and popular because the other kids weren't afraid to go near her; Arnold never having to fend off her endless taunts and pranks; and the rest of her classmates, as they were now, happy without her there to bully them.
Yes, she imagined, they all would have been better off without me. Better had I not existed.
But then, it was not all in her imagination. She felt she had justification. Her classmates didn't care that she wasn't around. They even liked it better. Her best friend was much better off without her. And after last night...
Her father hadn't at all been happy when he'd seen the bandage on her arm. He'd ripped it off in a fit of anger and had accused her of telling. She protested - loudly - but it had just infuriated him. He had hurt her, then, in anger, grabbing her by that same wrist and telling her everything that was wrong with her, punctuating each reason with another punch, slap or kick. That was as helpless as she'd ever been. Unable to move, unable to duck or deflect and of the blows, she was stuck taking everything just as it came. She'd thought he might kill her, then.
When he'd finally let go, bending to pick up something nearby, she'd bolted, running to her room and locking the door behind her. She stayed there, curled up in a ball on her bed, crying silently for half an hour as Bob cursed and pounded on her door, trying to break it down or take it off it's hinges, all the while fearing for a life she wasn't sure she even wanted anymore. The torture had finally ended when Bob got a call from his lackeys at the Beeper Emporium. He'd left her alone, but left calling out that she didn't deserve to live and should be very glad that she was his daughter and not a daughter to someone who'd kill her for being who she was.
That had left her cold and suddenly completely emotionless. She'd dragged her body from the bed. Aching and protesting all the while she'd forced her limbs to move, violently unloading all of her school work from her backpack, leaving it torn and broken on the floor. She proceeded to pack the flimsy bag with every last one of her poetry books and any other work she could find. She found some other bags - paper and plastic bags holding useless things around her room - and filled them with the remainder of her writings and anything that was most important to her. There wasn't much. She set the two bags by her door and went to bed for the night.
The next morning she found she was little more than a bruise. It didn't matter to her anymore, though, and she tuned out her body as she got ready for school. She did everything as she normally would have, save for bring along the bags she had filled the night before. Then she had started off for school, deviating from the path before she could meet anyone she knew.
She'd ended up at the docks, right where she wanted to be. She chose an old one, unstable and unused. Perfect. As she made her way out to the edge of the dock, she could feel it disintegrating under her feet. Rather appropriate metaphor for her life, she'd reflected, slightly amused at how detached she felt.
Finally she stood at the precipice. She stood a moment, surveying the water before her, then silently leaned down a caught one of her bags in her hands. Systematically she emptied the bag, taking each object one by one in her hands and looking at it a few moments before tossing it into the bay. She repeating the process over and over until she reached her writings.
She'd straitened then, letting all the feelings of doom, hatred and pain wash over her. Then she'd taken her first writing, on a loose sheet of paper, read it, ripped it down the middle, and tossed in away, watching the pieces flow into the wind for a few seconds before plunging into the water.
Carefully, purposefully, she did the same thing for each piece of writing she had brought with her. Sometimes reading them aloud in a scornful voice, sometimes reading them to herself sorrowfully, she kept at it. Every single thing she had ever written was going, piece by torn piece. Nothing she had ever done in her life had ever seemed as important as this moment. She was fully aware of the symbolism of this act and painfully aware of the decision that would follow. The most critical decision of her life. Live or Die? She had the power to do either, she just wasn't sure which one she wanted.
~~~
She hadn't shown up at school that day. All three of them were horribly disappointed. They'd had everything scripted down to the minutest detail. They knew just how they were going to stand around her, and just what motions they would make. They'd even practiced most of the night. Now they'd have to wait, anxiously, one more day.
Worse though, were their fears of what might have happened to prevent her from coming. Thoughts of this kind made all three alternately shiver through the entire first half of class.
It wasn't until recess that their fears were confirmed - more or less.
They were sitting, worriedly, dejectedly, behind the jungle gym, talking about her nervously, when they suddenly heard heavy breathing behind them. They turned as one to see Brainy shifting from side to side before them.
"Helga..." He wheezed, uncertain of their feelings towards her, "...docks..." Having run from the docks after following Helga there that morning, combined with his own apprehension about her condition made Brainy even more incomprehensible than normal. "...just hurry..."
The three exchanged a brief, fear filled look between them, then took off, out of school grounds. As fast as they could, they made their way towards the docks, never noticing that Brainy was no longer with them.
___
It was some time before they reached Helga. They hadn't known which dock Helga had been on, and Brainy was suddenly not there to help them. They'd wasted valuable time looking for her, time they all somehow sensed they could ill afford to lose. It was Gerald who finally spotted her, standing silently on one of the oldest docks, unmoving as a chill wind blustered about her. She was holding a single piece of paper in front of her, not seeming to notice the empty book jackets and gobs of white that littered the water before her. It was evident that she had put them there.
As they approached, (at top speed) Brainy finally made a reappearance, pulling along behind him the school psychiatrist. Together, they stood at the edge of the dock, knowing that the rotting planks of wood could collapse at any time, and would if too much more weight was put upon them. Helga was still holding the paper up in front of her.
"HELGA!" Phoebe screamed in panic.
Helga didn't appear to notice. Instead, she simply tore the paper in her hand into mid-sized shreds, and released them into the water. Then she stooped down and pulled another piece of paper from the pack at her feet, still oblivious to all around her, and repeated the process.
All the kids were yelling for Helga now, but she was either ignoring them, or somehow completely unaware that they were even there. Dr. Bliss noticed the remnants of her pink poetry books in the water and instantly recognized them for what they were. Not too long ago, she'd convinced Helga to share the contents of some of those books with her, and had been pleasantly surprised at the talent displayed in her writings. Seeing those books - and papers, which had almost certainly contained similar material - floating there ripped to pieces, Dr. Bliss suddenly had a sinking feeling she knew what was coming next. Children, and adults too to a much lesser extent, tended to act out with alarming symbolism.
Helga was ruining everything that was important to her, and destroying the things she was most passionate about. Symbolically she was destroying herself.
Dr. Bliss felt pure fear grip her heart.
Now empty, the backpack beside Helga was now pitched into the sea also. Now it was just Helga herself, alone on the empty old dock. *She's going to jump!*
Panic overrode Dr. Bliss's good sense, and she unconsciously blurted her thought aloud. Phoebe gave a gasping cry, and called out for Helga again. Gerald, worried, did the same, looking over at Dr. Bliss. Brainy surged forward, moving beside Arnold, who was staring at Helga as if he could pull her from the brink with sheer force of will.
"You... have to.... go. Get her." He wheezed softly, so that only Arnold could hear. "It has... to be you."
Arnold didn't respond for a moment, perhaps processing this bit of information. He shook his head once, then his jaw locked into place, and a look of pure determination set on his face.
Brainy moved backward as Arnold moved forward, towards the dock. Dr. Bliss started as he did so, and moved forward to stop him. Brainy intercepted her, gripping her arm. Surprisingly it was Phoebe who spoke up in his defense.
"Let him go. He's the only one who can get to her. The bridge can't support both you and Helga at the same time... besides, I think he may be the only one who can break through to her."
*Depths of blue and drops of green. Serene. Amid Turmoil. Coral among Sharks. Each wave working together, yet attaching nowhere and lying in nothing. Oh endless river of doom, Sapphire void. Is this to be my final resting place? Am I to sleep in your depths? If my world I am to place under your caress, What Then?*