Status: Updating Daily
A Fabric Slipper is Better Than Glass
Ribbon (Four)
By the time mother was fully up the stairs, I was just about ready to have a heart attack. Father looked like a lion who hadn't eaten in months- and I was the deer caught in the head lights. In one step he was infront of me- and I was backed up into the wall. He coiled his hand around my throat- pushing me slowly up the wall as my air suply was cut loose. My hands uslessly clawed at his fingers as the fire in his eyes grew and grew.
"All I asked, is for you to be polite." he hissed in my ear.
"Is that to much to fucking ask!" he yelled at me- tossing me into the wall right of him- causing me to crash into a table full of picture frames and vases with flowers.
I felt different types of gass and wood peices imbed themselves into my arms and cheek, as I rolled away from the wall with unused momentum.
"Is is?" he yelled- kicking me staight in the bruise on my stomach.
"No." I chocked out, through the tears.
"Good answer." he said, hoistin me up and slamming his left fist into my eye.
It went like that that for awhile, countless number of things breaking, while he invented new ways for me to feel pain- one of them knocking a nail through my left hand- before taking it out and filtering scalding water directly into the whole.
"Next time you see Derrick what are you going to be?" he yelled, as he continued to filter hot-as-lava water into the whole he created in my hand.
"Polite." I managed to choke out as the water that left my hand burnt away at the flesh of my fingers and arm.
"Good girl." he said, finishing with the water before going upstairs.
Forcably I sit up- ignoring the pain it caused as I craddled my hand into my chest. I looked around at the completly trashed room, everything but the walls themselves broken- the windows even were shattered and doors indented in the shape of my body. I knew that the unquestioning cleaning crew would come later tonight and by tommorrow this would be the perfect picture of how it was before dad ruined. Things like this have happened, but never this bad.
Never so much that as I walked up the stairs- I could see the trail of blood I left on each step.
"All I asked, is for you to be polite." he hissed in my ear.
"Is that to much to fucking ask!" he yelled at me- tossing me into the wall right of him- causing me to crash into a table full of picture frames and vases with flowers.
I felt different types of gass and wood peices imbed themselves into my arms and cheek, as I rolled away from the wall with unused momentum.
"Is is?" he yelled- kicking me staight in the bruise on my stomach.
"No." I chocked out, through the tears.
"Good answer." he said, hoistin me up and slamming his left fist into my eye.
It went like that that for awhile, countless number of things breaking, while he invented new ways for me to feel pain- one of them knocking a nail through my left hand- before taking it out and filtering scalding water directly into the whole.
"Next time you see Derrick what are you going to be?" he yelled, as he continued to filter hot-as-lava water into the whole he created in my hand.
"Polite." I managed to choke out as the water that left my hand burnt away at the flesh of my fingers and arm.
"Good girl." he said, finishing with the water before going upstairs.
Forcably I sit up- ignoring the pain it caused as I craddled my hand into my chest. I looked around at the completly trashed room, everything but the walls themselves broken- the windows even were shattered and doors indented in the shape of my body. I knew that the unquestioning cleaning crew would come later tonight and by tommorrow this would be the perfect picture of how it was before dad ruined. Things like this have happened, but never this bad.
Never so much that as I walked up the stairs- I could see the trail of blood I left on each step.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'm determined to write another few chapters today and tomorrow on this!