Warning: This is dark, non fiction, and may be disturbing.
|I watch his shadow on the wall; I can't feel his blows, but I see them come. Shadows, my life is full of them; shadows of childhood denied, shadows of fear, and shadows of the rage I feel.
I don't make a sound, if I cry out, if I beg, he'll only hurt me more. Hurt me more? Doesn't he realize he can't hurt me anymore? I'm already broken, I'm already lost.
Why? I've done nothing to hurt him, maybe it is my existence that hurts him. A mistake, not remembered, but never forgotten.
I look at his hands, he's holding a pocketknife. I got him that pocketknife last Christmas, now he'll use it to kill me. He can't kill me, I'm already dead.
Darkness, I've been waiting for the darkness, I welcome it as a friend. Mom had felt like this when he killed her.
Mom, she couldn't believe the monster she'd married.
"Honey, your father is just showing his love for you."
Like he showed his love for you?
I don't care about dying; I'm already dead.
I hear sirens, they're coming for him. I'm not dead, but he will be.