A/n: I thank everyone who reviewed. I'm going to try and review the
people's stories that reviewed mine. If I don't soon, don't be angry. I
just have so much work due. I'm such a procrastinator, except for my
writing.
Chapter 5
Time does heal all wounds, but a scar always remains. Physically and emotionally. My scars have faded, but the moments remain vivid in my mind like it was yesterday. I can't let it go. I spent most of my time consumed with those wounds, those scars that I worked nonstop to right the wrong committed against me. Now that I have inflicted some wounds that have healed into scars, I have nothing left. I was frenzied and now have calm. I have nothing left, but emptiness.
I walked around the vast emptiness, watching out for the holes that littered the expanse in front of me. I found a perfect little spot surrounded by holes, but just enough for me to lie down and look up at the stars. I was briefed on the dangers of snakes and lizards, but I just needed time. Time to heal.
I lie down and look up at the stars. They remind me of home. I always consider home as the place I lived with my mother and father when I was 6. That was when life was good. My mother was there to take care of me and played the part of the lovely housewife. My father was the dedicated husband and provider of the household. We were rich and I can now admit it without much shame. I was always ashamed of our wealth and of the power it held.
Lying down, I close my eyes and am transported to that time and place. I'm helping my mother cook dinner, when my father bursts in the door with arms wide open. I run to him and kiss him on his cheek. He picks me up and carries me towards my mother. He gives a kiss to my mother. He puts me down and goes to wash up. Next it seems like someone pushed the fast forward and I see quick flashes of us eating dinner and us reading a book in the den. Then it stops as my father tucks me into bed with a kiss on my forehead. As he turns off the lights he says, "You're my girl forever. Always mine."
A chill run downs my back as I pull that memory from the depths of my mind. I do not move though and stay sprawled on the ground. A memory from a year later pops into my head. I see my mother lounging on a chair next to our pool. My father comes storming through the gate and confronts my mother, screaming about infidelity. Being only 7, not knowing what was going on, I hid under the kitchen table. My parents came in screaming, my mother denying all that my father had said. My mother is facing my father's back, but I see his face and his hands. Everything seems to go in slow motion now as I see my father grab a knife from the drawer in front of him. He turns and I hear a blood-curdling scream.
Tears fall down my eyes. I want to shut off my memories. The wound seems to be reopened. The wound closest to my heart. I was only 7 and knew my father wasn't the same daddy who read Peter Pan to me. I never knew what caused him to do it. I got older and wiser. At 8, I saw my father get acquitted of murder and my mother called a suicidal maniac. At 9, my father showed me a side I never thought I would see. He became very paranoid and wouldn't let me have friends over anymore. By that time I had one good friend who liked me for me and I was crushed. I asked him why and he said that my friend's family was not good. He called my one and only friend in the world, a slut.
Three days after I turned 10 was the first time my father ever raised a hand to me. He had given me a china doll. I still liked dolls enough to want to play with it and ended up breaking it. A mistake I wish I had never made. He came into the room and looked upon the shattered face of the $950 hand painted, imported, silk dressed china doll and blew up. He called me all kinds of names and when name-calling didn't do the job anymore, he raised his hand and slapped me. It left a red mark on my face for a few minutes, but had left a bigger mark on my heart. My father had become increasingly different and now was the crucial point when I realized he wasn't coming back.
As I lay on the cooling desert floor, I wish that my life had been different. I wish I was Daddy's little girl and had never grown up with a father who had snapped and killed my mother. That was only the beginning of the torment. That was only the beginning, the starting point, and the preliminary event that led me to the path that led me to the place where I now laid. It got worse.
At 11, I had begun to develop. I started to realize how my body was changing. I wasn't one of those gawky kids, but I now wish I was. I started to develop into a beauty, a girl who could be a model in those teenage magazines. At 12, I began gaining the attention of boys. I reveled in the attention until I saw my father's reaction. One day after I had been walked back from school from a friend of mine who happened to a boy. My father was waiting on the couch in our living room with the lights out.
After the china doll incident, he became more abusive. I didn't have to do much to anger him. He would smack me around a little. I retained minor injuries. It wasn't until one time when I was putting away my plate for dinner when he made me bleed. I didn't know what made him made and still don't to this day, but the plate broke and left minor cuts on my arms and legs. I got a bad wound when he had pushed me into the corner of our coffee table. I still have the scar on my leg. It didn't take a genius to see that I should be scared of that man that day. I should have been even more scared than I was. That was the day he crossed the line.
A/n: Maybe I'm a little bit evil for leaving you guys in suspense, but if I tell you everything now, Simply would have no more secrets to reveal. A person needs to have some sense of mystery about them.
Chapter 5
Time does heal all wounds, but a scar always remains. Physically and emotionally. My scars have faded, but the moments remain vivid in my mind like it was yesterday. I can't let it go. I spent most of my time consumed with those wounds, those scars that I worked nonstop to right the wrong committed against me. Now that I have inflicted some wounds that have healed into scars, I have nothing left. I was frenzied and now have calm. I have nothing left, but emptiness.
I walked around the vast emptiness, watching out for the holes that littered the expanse in front of me. I found a perfect little spot surrounded by holes, but just enough for me to lie down and look up at the stars. I was briefed on the dangers of snakes and lizards, but I just needed time. Time to heal.
I lie down and look up at the stars. They remind me of home. I always consider home as the place I lived with my mother and father when I was 6. That was when life was good. My mother was there to take care of me and played the part of the lovely housewife. My father was the dedicated husband and provider of the household. We were rich and I can now admit it without much shame. I was always ashamed of our wealth and of the power it held.
Lying down, I close my eyes and am transported to that time and place. I'm helping my mother cook dinner, when my father bursts in the door with arms wide open. I run to him and kiss him on his cheek. He picks me up and carries me towards my mother. He gives a kiss to my mother. He puts me down and goes to wash up. Next it seems like someone pushed the fast forward and I see quick flashes of us eating dinner and us reading a book in the den. Then it stops as my father tucks me into bed with a kiss on my forehead. As he turns off the lights he says, "You're my girl forever. Always mine."
A chill run downs my back as I pull that memory from the depths of my mind. I do not move though and stay sprawled on the ground. A memory from a year later pops into my head. I see my mother lounging on a chair next to our pool. My father comes storming through the gate and confronts my mother, screaming about infidelity. Being only 7, not knowing what was going on, I hid under the kitchen table. My parents came in screaming, my mother denying all that my father had said. My mother is facing my father's back, but I see his face and his hands. Everything seems to go in slow motion now as I see my father grab a knife from the drawer in front of him. He turns and I hear a blood-curdling scream.
Tears fall down my eyes. I want to shut off my memories. The wound seems to be reopened. The wound closest to my heart. I was only 7 and knew my father wasn't the same daddy who read Peter Pan to me. I never knew what caused him to do it. I got older and wiser. At 8, I saw my father get acquitted of murder and my mother called a suicidal maniac. At 9, my father showed me a side I never thought I would see. He became very paranoid and wouldn't let me have friends over anymore. By that time I had one good friend who liked me for me and I was crushed. I asked him why and he said that my friend's family was not good. He called my one and only friend in the world, a slut.
Three days after I turned 10 was the first time my father ever raised a hand to me. He had given me a china doll. I still liked dolls enough to want to play with it and ended up breaking it. A mistake I wish I had never made. He came into the room and looked upon the shattered face of the $950 hand painted, imported, silk dressed china doll and blew up. He called me all kinds of names and when name-calling didn't do the job anymore, he raised his hand and slapped me. It left a red mark on my face for a few minutes, but had left a bigger mark on my heart. My father had become increasingly different and now was the crucial point when I realized he wasn't coming back.
As I lay on the cooling desert floor, I wish that my life had been different. I wish I was Daddy's little girl and had never grown up with a father who had snapped and killed my mother. That was only the beginning of the torment. That was only the beginning, the starting point, and the preliminary event that led me to the path that led me to the place where I now laid. It got worse.
At 11, I had begun to develop. I started to realize how my body was changing. I wasn't one of those gawky kids, but I now wish I was. I started to develop into a beauty, a girl who could be a model in those teenage magazines. At 12, I began gaining the attention of boys. I reveled in the attention until I saw my father's reaction. One day after I had been walked back from school from a friend of mine who happened to a boy. My father was waiting on the couch in our living room with the lights out.
After the china doll incident, he became more abusive. I didn't have to do much to anger him. He would smack me around a little. I retained minor injuries. It wasn't until one time when I was putting away my plate for dinner when he made me bleed. I didn't know what made him made and still don't to this day, but the plate broke and left minor cuts on my arms and legs. I got a bad wound when he had pushed me into the corner of our coffee table. I still have the scar on my leg. It didn't take a genius to see that I should be scared of that man that day. I should have been even more scared than I was. That was the day he crossed the line.
A/n: Maybe I'm a little bit evil for leaving you guys in suspense, but if I tell you everything now, Simply would have no more secrets to reveal. A person needs to have some sense of mystery about them.