Fiction by Night

Quiet, please!

        When daddy sleeps I have to be very quiet when I play, because if he wakes up, he makes me regret it, real bad. Yesterday was a bad day, he comes home angrier than usual, so I ran upstairs to my room thinking he might calm down; well, he didn’t. He took off his belt, and even though I didn’t do anything, he started slapping my face with it; it felt like a million bees stinging me at once. I was really scared I was gonna die. That was on Sunday.

       On Monday when I came home from school, daddy was sitting at the table looking really angry; he motioned with his arm for me to come over and sit on his lap, so I slowly went over to him and as I was just about to jump on him, he grabbed me and put his large, rough hands around my tiny throat and squeezed so hard until I couldn’t almost breath. He finally let go and threw me on the floor, kicked me in the stomach, and told me to go to my room. There was no dinner for me that night and so I cried myself to sleep wondering why Daddy is mad at me. My only friend that night was my baby doll that had very pretty clothes and nice hair. I tried to fall asleep and was feeling really scared.

       Tuesday morning when I got to go downstairs for breakfast I found out the table had nothing on it but a few empty bottles. Daddy was lying on the couch and a funny odor was coming from his breath; maybe he was sick real bad and didn’t want to tell me and I don’t want to wake him up; Daddy gets very mad when you wake him up. So I left him on the couch and covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t get cold and I got myself ready for school. I made my own lunch; two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a can of juice and then walked by myself to the school bus. When school was over and I came home, Daddy was still sleeping on the couch and looked like he was dead; so I tried quietly to go upstairs to my room and that’s when I heard him behind me. He pushed me through the door and started slapping me all over and I cried real loud but he wouldn’t stop until he was tired. I felt wetness on my face and went to the bathroom and looked into the broken mirror that he used to hit Mommy’s head off of and I saw blood; I wanted to scream, but if I did, Daddy would make me regret it, real bad.  Again, that night, no supper. Laying straight back in my bed and with the covers over my face, I prayed to God that Daddy would not go into my room and he didn’t. But I was still really scared, so I ran into my closet and held the doorknob as tight as I could. The cold and darkness were awful; but compared to how angry Daddy gets when he wants to hit me, the closet seems safer. Afterward, I came out, slept again with my baby doll that has the pretty clothes and nice hair, but now she had a shoe missing.

       When I woke up for school on Wednesday, Daddy was already downstairs waiting for me; I was really scared, but he seemed better this morning. He had breakfast ready for me and already packed my lunch. He wasn’t in his usual work clothes and I asked him why; he just turned toward me and smiled and said that he had the day off and would be here when I got back. I got scared when I arrived home. The front door was already opened when I came into the house but I didn’t see Daddy anywhere; and then when I turned my way in towards the kitchen, Daddy’s head was on the table and beside his left arm, there were several empty bottles beside him. Quickly, he awakened, got up, started yelling at me so I got scared and ran as fast as I could upstairs towards my room. At the very top of the steps, he caught my foot and dragged me by it all the way downstairs and started whipping me with an electrical cord real hard

against the back. The pain started to burn, burn so bad that I couldn’t even cry, just scream. It hurt awful bad. He yelled some real bad words at me and kicked me a few times and told me to go to my room; another night with no supper. I just sat there in the scary silence and played with my baby doll with the pretty clothes and nice hair who now was missing an eye. The next morning it was hard for me to put clothes on because my limbs were swollen and blue.

       On Thursday,  Daddy still hadn’t gone to work in a while, I think,  and he was becoming crueler than ever. He would always yell at me in the morning and hit me in the evening, mostly with whatever he could find; tonight this beating was with a broomstick across my back, really hard! I thought I was going to bleed to death. I can’t understand why Daddy is always so mad at me; I do everything he tells me to do and I still can’t get him to love me. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Tomorrow I will try to do better and show Daddy how much I appreciate him. My baby doll with the pretty clothes and nice hair has both eyes missing now.

       Friday morning and I’m off to school for the last day of the week; it has been hard though, the other kids and teachers have been asking me questions about all the bruises that I have. I tell them I have all kinds of accidents at home and that Daddy tries to fix me, but he can’t always. So, when I came home Friday evening, Daddy told me that he got a phone call from the school about me and then he swings a baseball bat right at my face and crushes my nose; it is very hard to breathe. Daddy is in a rage this time and doesn’t know how to stop; I wish I wouldn’t have made him so mad, but I did. I ran out of the house down to a neighbor’s because I am so scared and don’t know what else to do. Finally, I tell them what daddy has been doing to me and that he doesn’t mean it but does it anyway. “Please help him”, I tell them.

       Saturday morning there are police at my house and I see Daddy being brought out with bracelets on his wrists. They are putting him in the car and taking him somewhere. Now what? What is going to happen to me? I’m still scared. I hope they are taking him to a place where he won’t hurt anyone and they won’t hurt him. I run back upstairs and look for my baby doll with the nice clothes and pretty hair and see now that she is all battered and damaged, sort of like me, I guess. Because I think a long time ago, someone must have made Daddy very angry. I just hope that I don’t make him angry anymore. I think Daddy will always be mad at me and I will always be afraid of him. Maybe we are both better off to stay quiet.



























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