Broken:
She stood her ground. She, Lucy Drake, did not cower. It hadn't even occurred to her. It was not allowed. Here she was, in the living room, her drunken father yelling at her. Again. He was angry because he had apparently lost some gamble and owed many galleons, galleons he did not have. Therefore, he was blaming her for his bad luck, simply because there was no one else.
"Why aren't the dishes done?" He screamed. "The table isn't cleared off!" He raised his arm, as if to hit her, but she was used to it. She didn't like it, but she was used to it. "You stupid girl, why can't you do anything right?" I'm trying! She would have said that out loud, but that would have been bad. "Look at me when I talk to you!" She already was; he of all people should know that. She knew what she was about to do was very bad, but she felt compelled to do it anyway.
"I am." She insisted, and instantly regretted it. She shouldn't have said that. He raised his hand again, only this time, it collided with her cheek. She staggered back, shocked; it never seemed to get easier. Tears were in her eyes, threatening to escape. She backed away, her hand to her cheek. He looked murderous still. He walked up to her, and pushed her into the wall. He jerked his arm back, before shooting it right into her stomach. She couldn't breathe. He let go of her, and she slid down the wall. His foot then collided with her side, and then his foot hit her face. Once more to her face, and he was done, but only with the non-magical beating. She knew what was coming, as she had endured it for all her years.
"You made this happen, don't disobey me again, or it will get worse." She quickly shot up, balanced herself, and ran to the stairs. Not the ones that went upstairs, but the ones to the basement, where she lived. She knew he was coming after her, that he would catch up to her, heck, she was even leading him to a secluded area with only one exit. When she got to that one exit, opening it delayed her, and he caught up to her.
Before she could do anything, he shouted an all-too-familiar curse. He would usually beat her up and make her weak, and then move on to using painful curses. "Crucio!" He shouted, his wand pointed at the girl. No matter how many times he did this to her, it never got easier. She never got used to it. Her bones were iron hot, burning her from the inside, while her body was dipped in acid and stabbed with poison-tipped daggers. She shook, collapsed, and thumped down the stairs. That only added to the pain. She could feel every last strike against each and every bare wooden stair. She finally hit the unfinished basement's floor and landed in a heap. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. She didn't even hear him come down the stairs, but she did feel it when he stomped hard on her stomach, again. The pain seemed to last for days, when in reality, it had only been about five minute's tops. When the pain did end, however, she still could not breathe.
Finally, the evil man was gone, upstairs. She heard the door lock behind him. Now, since the curse had stopped, she could finally breathe. Only she couldn't, she still was stunned from the kicking, falling, and curse. She lay on the ground, panting, crying, alone. Sure, she could act brave in front of him, but alone? She was scared and alone every day. The tears poured out, leaving clean trails down her face.
She finally started to breathe, and looked at the body, examining the wounds she could see. Her stomach had bruises already, like her arms. Though she couldn't see her face, she could feel it. She could feel the blood dripping down, felt it on her face and then heard it drip into a small puddle on the dirt floor.
After a few moments of doing this, she smelled something she hoped wasn't there. Maybe she was just imagining it. All those curses probably drove me crazy by now, right? She hoped so, because what she smelled was smoke.
Knowing he wouldn't ever cook, she was betting it wasn't burnt lunch. She knew she would be burned alive if she didn't get up, but she couldn't get up. Her body was just too sore; she was guessing that her wrist was broken, along with a few ribs. There would also be bruises all over her body, maybe her ankle was sprained as well. Her cheek was split, the fall hadn't helped at all with that one, but no matter how hurt she was, it wouldn't matter if she was cooked in the house. She had already wasted precious moments she might need for her escape. She pushed herself up, causing her wrist and ankle to flare with pain. Yup, her wrist was definitely broken.
When she got up, she couldn't breathe again. The smoke was already getting down here. Once the house collapses, it will be on her. She limped over to my corner. In it, a threadbare blanket lay, along with a small, brown duffel bag. In the duffel bag was her one pair of night clothes. She picked up the blanket, and stuffed it in the bag. Before she got back up, she clutched her precious locket that she always wore. It belonged to her mother. She ran her fingers along the smooth surface, cherishing what she had left of her. Her initials, D.L.E. were inside it, opposite of her picture. She was quite beautiful: dark red hair, green eyes, pale face, even a few freckles could be spotted here and there. Lucy looked just like her, only a decade younger, and with brown eyes instead of green.
Closing the locket, she slowly and carefully got up. she had spent too much time admiring the locket; beams were close to falling from the ceiling. She grabbed the bag and looked around for her escape. Unfortunately, there was none. The windows were too small and high to get to, and the door was blocked off by a small beam that had already fallen. Accepting the fact that this was the end to her horrid life, she sat down. Setting the bag on the floor, she lied down, using it as her pillow.
Not long after that, the fire was spreading rapidly. Fire was all around her, and she was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Good, she thought to herself, perhaps I will not have to die by being burned to a crisp. Her thought was proven wrong, however, when the fire brushed against her already hurt leg. She hissed; this was going to be very painful.
She didn't call for help, as there was no use. Nobody would ever hear her if she tried. Her father had obviously gotten tired of her, lit the house on fire, and ran. He would probably be far away right now, thanks to magic. They had no neighbors, seeing as they lived in the middle of the woods, and even if they did, nobody would be stupid enough to come into a burning house to save a pathetic child who was better off dead. At least, that was what her father had always told her: Nobody can save me, because nobody cares about a useless child who was better off dead. Her leg was on fire, literally. She had tried putting it out, using her bag, but that had only made it worse. Now, she could smell her own flesh burning, making her almost vomit. If she had eaten in at least four or five days, she would have lost it all.
She heard creaks and cracks, and knew that her time would soon be up. The beams holding up the house were wood, and would not stay up for very long. With the smoke in the air, fire consuming her leg, and beams ready to fall, her hope was lost. She was going to die. She was going to die alone, with nobody to miss her. Once she was gone, it would be as if she never existed. She would not live on in anyone's heart or mind, because nobody knew about her, aside from her horrible father, that is.
This is awful, she thought, it's my birthday and I am dying a painful death. Her birthdays were never happy anyway. They were only a reminder that she had spent another year with that awful man.
xXx
She was in the kitchen doing the dishes, as she heard him enter the room. His footsteps thumped hard against the worn out linoleum. She knew it was coming, she deserved it, she wasn't working hard enough. She couldn't do things properly today, because she hadn't eaten in days and had virtually no energy.
"Why aren't those dishes done yet?" He bellowed.
"I-I'm sorry, I just- I'm so tired and hungry…" She started.
"Stop with the complaining and answer the question! Now, why aren't the dishes done yet?" He repeated.
"I am too slow." She gulped.
"That you are, you filthy squib!" She had shown no signs of being magical and was already five years old. He had always hated her, but now that she was a squib, he wished she was never born. She was his worst mistake, as he put it.
He rushed up to her, and slapped her across her face.
xXx
A tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered the worst beating of her life before this night. She knew she was a broken child and would never be fixed. How could someone be fixed without all of the pieces?
The seconds ticked on, and her leg was still being eaten alive by the hungry flame that would stop only when nothing else remained. She was slipping in and out of consciousness, her vision was starting to blur.
Maybe, I won't be conscious when I die, she thought, maybe, I will fall asleep and never wake up. She was just starting to close her eyes, when she heard a noise. It wasn't very loud, yet she heard the faint sound that gave her hope. Enough hope to keep fighting to keep her eyes open, for she knew that once they closed, they wouldn't open ever again. It was a little popping noise; the sound of a witch or wizard using magic to appear in another location.
Someone's here. They'll find me soon enough. I just hope it's before I'm dead.