Post by /Blue/ on Jul 15, 2009 6:20:52 GMT -8
((This is the story of my character, Lupe, and her childhood. I like writing in first person, so 'she' will tell the story.))
Most kids complain about their parents TV being too loud or their dad snoring like thunder at night. Thats their excuse for sleepless nights. But not me. My parents yell to loud, and the sound of glass shattering against the walls keeps me awake each night. I press the pillows over my head and slide deeper under the covers, but I can still hear them. I always can. They think I'm too young to understand, but I'm smart enough to know that they hate each other. Why they don't split up, I will never understand.
I knew it was only a matter of time before I was dragged into their problems. And it happened tonight. My mother was yelling at my dad about his drinking problem, and of course he was too intoxicated to understand, but I heard my name and I went rigid. They were yelling about ME now? What had I done? I got good grades, I didn't get in trouble! But suddenly light spilled into my room as my father flung open my door. He grabbed my arms and yanked me out of bed, pulling me back to my mother. My eyes were wide with fear, and I looked up at my mother, begging for help. As my father yelled something I couldn't understand, her picked me up off the floor, jabbing me with his finger and then pushing my mom down. "Leave her alone! She has nothing to do with this!" she screeched at my drunken father. But he wouldn't listen. He ignored her cries, shoving my to the ground and kicking me. "Its all your fault, you little witch!" he screamed at me. I curled up into a ball, but he grabbed my arms and pried them away from my body. I tried to hit him, but I was too small, too weak. In return for my resistance, he slapped me in the face. I felt it sting my cheek, and I cried out in pain. Tears threatened to come, but I choked them back. My mother tried to grab him, but he pushed her away and punched me in the gut.
I lay on my bed, crying silently. The sound of his yelling echoed in my ears, the pain of his blows making my body ache. I stood and looked in the mirror. On my face, there was a large, raw, red mark from his slap. Bruises from hsi kicks and punches covered me like spots on a dalmation, and I touched my face gently, wincing back as I did. What had I done?
For months, he would come and get me. And each time, it was worse. But soon I began to hold my tounge and clench my teeth. I stayed silent until he released me. When he did, I would run to my room and shove everything against the door and hide. But every time, I had to come out. Even when he said he would shoot me, or run me over with his truck. Even after the living room carpet was covered in broken bottles, or when he brought a belt out. I stayed brave, but every time he hit me, I began to believe what he said. I was a worthless little girl, I never should have been born. I believed everything, but that was what he wanted.
He stopped letting me go to school. He said the marks were too noticible, that I could only fall down the stairs so many times before the story got old. So I stayed locked in my room, listening to the sound of my mother begging him to leave me alone.
My present was him being gone. He left the house, leaving my mother and I. "I'm going to kill him, Lupe." my mother said softly to me. I shok my head. "Lupe, I'm so sorry for all he's done to you. But I'll make everything better, I promise." unlike my fathers words, I couldn't believe her.
He says she was in a car accident. She was driving to the store, to get me a late present, and she got hit by another car. But I know what happened. On Christmas, I sat in my room, waiting for him to come home. Waiting for my beating. And when he came home, she was ready. She shot at him, but she missed. She missed him by inches, and he grabbed it out of her hands and shot at her. But he didn't miss. He didn't miss.
Still going along with the story of the car accident, my father says its my fault. Since she was 'driving to the store to get my present' when she died, its my fault. As if her cared about her at all. So he yells that at me now too.
I have 10 knife scars now. I counted them. I got the worst one last week, when I asked him what would happen if I ran away and told the police. He grabbed a steak knife and slashed it from my wrist to my collarbone. he wouldn't even take me to the hospital.
No one will ever marry me. I have a lot of reasons. My father won't let them, I will never have human contact outside of him for the rest of my life, I'm not a likable person, and I am scarred and marked for life. Boys on TV only like girls that are perfect and flawless, but I have scars and bruises all over. As if anyone would ever see them.
I ran away. I don't know how I got away, or how he didn't get me, but I ran away. He ran after me, throwing things and screaming he would kill me, but all the years of insults, all the months of holding back my screams, all the days of holding in tears, all the minutes of standing still, and living every second in fear made me run faster than I ever thought possible. And finally I outran him and he couldn't get me anymore.
I don't know where I'll go, or how I will eat, but the thing is that I got away. And now I'm safe, or as safe as I have ever been. And even though I won't ever be as pretty as those girls on TV, or as naive, I will be stronger because of what he did to me.
It has been a year since I escaped. Sure, I'm ill and hungry, but its better than living with him. I can't go tell the police, because any stirring of trouble and he will find me. But I'll be alright, at least for now.
October 20, 2005
Most kids complain about their parents TV being too loud or their dad snoring like thunder at night. Thats their excuse for sleepless nights. But not me. My parents yell to loud, and the sound of glass shattering against the walls keeps me awake each night. I press the pillows over my head and slide deeper under the covers, but I can still hear them. I always can. They think I'm too young to understand, but I'm smart enough to know that they hate each other. Why they don't split up, I will never understand.
December 31, 2005
I knew it was only a matter of time before I was dragged into their problems. And it happened tonight. My mother was yelling at my dad about his drinking problem, and of course he was too intoxicated to understand, but I heard my name and I went rigid. They were yelling about ME now? What had I done? I got good grades, I didn't get in trouble! But suddenly light spilled into my room as my father flung open my door. He grabbed my arms and yanked me out of bed, pulling me back to my mother. My eyes were wide with fear, and I looked up at my mother, begging for help. As my father yelled something I couldn't understand, her picked me up off the floor, jabbing me with his finger and then pushing my mom down. "Leave her alone! She has nothing to do with this!" she screeched at my drunken father. But he wouldn't listen. He ignored her cries, shoving my to the ground and kicking me. "Its all your fault, you little witch!" he screamed at me. I curled up into a ball, but he grabbed my arms and pried them away from my body. I tried to hit him, but I was too small, too weak. In return for my resistance, he slapped me in the face. I felt it sting my cheek, and I cried out in pain. Tears threatened to come, but I choked them back. My mother tried to grab him, but he pushed her away and punched me in the gut.
January 1, 2006
I lay on my bed, crying silently. The sound of his yelling echoed in my ears, the pain of his blows making my body ache. I stood and looked in the mirror. On my face, there was a large, raw, red mark from his slap. Bruises from hsi kicks and punches covered me like spots on a dalmation, and I touched my face gently, wincing back as I did. What had I done?
June 15, 2006
For months, he would come and get me. And each time, it was worse. But soon I began to hold my tounge and clench my teeth. I stayed silent until he released me. When he did, I would run to my room and shove everything against the door and hide. But every time, I had to come out. Even when he said he would shoot me, or run me over with his truck. Even after the living room carpet was covered in broken bottles, or when he brought a belt out. I stayed brave, but every time he hit me, I began to believe what he said. I was a worthless little girl, I never should have been born. I believed everything, but that was what he wanted.
September 8, 2007
He stopped letting me go to school. He said the marks were too noticible, that I could only fall down the stairs so many times before the story got old. So I stayed locked in my room, listening to the sound of my mother begging him to leave me alone.
December 26, 2007
My present was him being gone. He left the house, leaving my mother and I. "I'm going to kill him, Lupe." my mother said softly to me. I shok my head. "Lupe, I'm so sorry for all he's done to you. But I'll make everything better, I promise." unlike my fathers words, I couldn't believe her.
December 27, 2007
My mother is dead
.December 28, 2007
He says she was in a car accident. She was driving to the store, to get me a late present, and she got hit by another car. But I know what happened. On Christmas, I sat in my room, waiting for him to come home. Waiting for my beating. And when he came home, she was ready. She shot at him, but she missed. She missed him by inches, and he grabbed it out of her hands and shot at her. But he didn't miss. He didn't miss.
January 15, 2008
Still going along with the story of the car accident, my father says its my fault. Since she was 'driving to the store to get my present' when she died, its my fault. As if her cared about her at all. So he yells that at me now too.
January 16, 2008
Did I mention he started using knives?
March 28, 2008
I have 10 knife scars now. I counted them. I got the worst one last week, when I asked him what would happen if I ran away and told the police. He grabbed a steak knife and slashed it from my wrist to my collarbone. he wouldn't even take me to the hospital.
April 9, 2008
No one will ever marry me. I have a lot of reasons. My father won't let them, I will never have human contact outside of him for the rest of my life, I'm not a likable person, and I am scarred and marked for life. Boys on TV only like girls that are perfect and flawless, but I have scars and bruises all over. As if anyone would ever see them.
July 4, 2008
Fireworks are dangerous. Too bad my dad didn't know that before he set one off and gave me a burn on my hand today. I guess it could have been worse.
July 17, 2008
I ran away. I don't know how I got away, or how he didn't get me, but I ran away. He ran after me, throwing things and screaming he would kill me, but all the years of insults, all the months of holding back my screams, all the days of holding in tears, all the minutes of standing still, and living every second in fear made me run faster than I ever thought possible. And finally I outran him and he couldn't get me anymore.
I don't know where I'll go, or how I will eat, but the thing is that I got away. And now I'm safe, or as safe as I have ever been. And even though I won't ever be as pretty as those girls on TV, or as naive, I will be stronger because of what he did to me.
July 17, 2009
It has been a year since I escaped. Sure, I'm ill and hungry, but its better than living with him. I can't go tell the police, because any stirring of trouble and he will find me. But I'll be alright, at least for now.
-Lupe
And his old name was Art cause he's really Irish. XD