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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1428227-No-More
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Dark · #1428227
This story is about a girl with a secret that is revealed by another girl.
“With us today is a registered humpback, she is also going to tell us her story.” The announcer said as the spot light moved from the kid who had been speaking to a new person, a girl.

She was near the far side of the stage. Our auditorium is a black box theatre where the crowd stand or sits near the stage like a normal auditorium but they can sit on any side. I was standing on the side near the doors and had managed to get a spot right off the stage.

She started to speak, “Have you ever wondered what would have happened to you had you been different then you are now?” She let the question sink in for a few seconds.

“I have, I wonder if maybe I could not have gotten beaten every time I walked passed my Mom or Dad. Maybe I would have, but I will never know. Mommy…”

She faltered as she remembered how she was treated by that evil woman for so many years. That evil woman was hung in the town square, an example to all; you do this you die, No Exceptions! People believed it. That year, the child abuse rate went down a lot.

Mommy, that is what they called her, she could be called many things but she forced people who knew her to call her Mommy. She beat her kids excessively, killing a few, she did what she wanted, and for the most part got away with it. Stupid bitch, did she know what she was doing? She was torturing her kids.

I knew what it was like to be beaten by a parent, but mine was not as often. It was only when I misbehaved but it still hurts, a lot. I never want to go home, never! I hate my home life, always afraid that my Dad will get mad at me and attack me, again. I hate him!

Pulling me from my thoughts the girl started to speak again. She did much better this time.

“Mommy did beat me, lots of times trying to correct my bend. Sometimes she would make me lie on the ground while my own brother would jump up and down on my back, or she would swing a bat in to my back trying to correct my spine’s curve.”

While she had been talking she had moved from the far side of the stage to the near side. Now she walked down the steps that led from the stage to the floor. I was right next to them.

She looked great considering what she had been through, she did have scars mostly on her back; she was wearing a halter top so they would show, and they were nasty. I had never seen anyone with that bad of scars ever. My scars were a mark of shame for me where hers were not like that at all. Mine were on the under side of my arms.

Ashamed for staring at her scars I looked at her face. She had been wearing glasses but had taken them off. Our eyes locked as she finished going down the steps. With her glasses her eyes were hidden but now her green eyes shown with intensity and strength. They were so green. I had never seen eyes like that, it was almost disturbing. The greenness changed a bit to reflect sadness and a “why me” pain that I knew all too well. “See me afterward,” she said quietly as she passed by me and moved on.

I instantly started to panic. Did she know about me? But how could she? I have never told anyone and my Dad certainly would never tell anyone. My Mom was dead; she had passed away a while back. So my Mom could not tell anyone. So then how could she know? I didn’t know what to do. I had never been in this situation before and did not like how it felt. If it helps me get away from Dad great, if it doesn’t well then I may ask for help anyways. I have been considering it for a while. If I don’t I will get beaten again but I am used to that.

She soon fished her round of making eye contact with anyone who would and letting people see her scars. The scars scared people, but it was also the most effective part of the assembly. 

People started to leave out the doors behind me with looks of horror and anger on most faces. I did not leave, I instead walked toward where I had last saw the girl who had just spoken. I was half way across the auditorium when I saw her talking to my eight grade English teacher, Mrs. Rector. When Mrs. Rector saw me walk up she quickly finished her conversation and left.

“Let’s talk in private.”

She motioned toward the doors in the back of the auditorium. They led to a classroom that was hardly ever used; she must have gone here before I came to the high school. We walked in and sat down.

“I just want to ask you one question. How often does he or she hit you?”

She looked at me with those green eyes again. Her glasses were nowhere to be seen.

“H-how do you know?” I stammered already knowing her answer.

“I can see it in your eyes, the pain I mean.”

“Your right he does hit me, well ever since Mom died and my older sister, Sarah went off to college. I am now the target, Sarah could always calm him down and everything was just fine but now if I put one toe out of line he gets pissed and hits me.”

“I, as a person, am going to help you the best I can. I know when he finds out he will be ticked. I am here to help you not get you hurt more, as long as he doesn’t find out, by you telling him, he will not know and won’t get mad at you because of it. You are not going to live with him anymore; I of all people should know that it is not a good place to live. Of course you will need to see a counselor; with you going off to college soon you will only need a short foster home. Do you cut?”

The question stunned me; I did not want to tell her. I just stared at the floor. “Well that is something we need to take care of, too. Do you think you will cut soon? If you can’t help it I want to take you with me now, or do you think you can handle it?”

“I think I can handle it for now but I don’t know for how long”

There was just something about her that I just felt at ease with. Maybe it was just the fact that she had been through all this and worse. Her eyes were just so powerful.

“I will be in touch with you soon. By the way I am Serenity.”

“I-I am Cassandra.”

I stood and left. When I got out into the hall I let it all go. I was so happy I am finished with my evil Dad. I will have to deal with all this pain and torture no more.

“No more.” I whispered to my self as I went to class.

© Copyright 2008 Jack Kirk (deathtol at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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