Hidden

I become aware. Slowly, painfully, I reach some state of consciousness.

I can't seem to open my eyes though. Wild images dance behind dark lids.

At first, they were only colors, in a frenzied dance, followed by shapes. But then they define themselves.

My mother, cowering from the old man.

The monster, beating me until I was no longer conscious.

The hell that I was raised in, and the damnation that mars my soul.

How all that combined makes me an accursed child, tainted for all to see, for all of them to judge me with their hateful glares.

I wonder how cruelly they would cast their judgment, how swiftly would the verdict fall, how ghastly would my sentence be?

All I wanted was a little relief, but it appears that I won't be granted that one santity.

God, have mercy on my soul.