Abused
One Shot
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Your alarm goes off.
You know what's happening today.
You lay there in bed for a second thinking.
It's Monday.
And you've got school.
You peel your quilt off and sit on the edge of your bed.
Another day.
Another day of pain.
Another day of torture.
Another day of school.
You shiver as your feet touch the cold laminate floor.
You make your way to the bathroom.
You wash your face.
You look at the scrawny looking figure staring at you in the mirror.
You should be happy.
Remember what day it is??
You make your way to your closet and pull out your uniform.
At least they can't make fun of what you wear.
You pull on your clothes and look at yourself in the mirror.
Remember??
Well you should do.
It's your birthday.
Your 15th birthday.
You grab your school bag.
You head downstairs.
You head for the front door.
"Where do you think you're going you bitch?!?!"
A voice calls out to you from the kitchen.
"Well answer me you filthy piece of shit!!"
The voice is getting louder.
You turn around.
A drunken figure is making its way towards you.
The figure is carrying something.
"Don't fucking look at me like that!!"
The figure is you dad.
He's carrying an empty vodka bottle.
He goes to take a gulp from the bottle.
He see's that it is empty.
He throws it at you in a rage.
"you fucking whore!!"
The bottle hits you on the head.
"You've been drinking my fucking vodka you piece of shit!!"
This is the last thing you remember.
You black out.
You open your eyes.
You are in the living room.
You are on the couch.
You feel a sharp pain on your head.
You touch the point of pain.
You see blood.
You see blood on your fingertips.
You begin to panic.
Everything is a blur.
You try to pull yourself up off the couch.
You can't seem to move.
You try to call for help.
Not a sound comes from your mouth.
No-one is around.
You panic even more.
You realize you are in a bag.
A clear bag.
A body bag.
Well, that explains the blurred vision.
You hear the living room door open.
Two people walk in.
They open the bag you are in.
You wonder.
Why are you in a body bag?
The people are looking at you.
They start examining you.
They see your scars.
The scars from the 15 years of abuse.
Yea, that's right.
Abuse.
Your dad had been beating you up for the past 15 years of your life.
And now because of this abuse...
You are dead.
Your alarm goes off.
You know what's happening today.
You lay there in bed for a second thinking.
It's Monday.
And you've got school.
You peel your quilt off and sit on the edge of your bed.
Another day.
Another day of pain.
Another day of torture.
Another day of school.
You shiver as your feet touch the cold laminate floor.
You make your way to the bathroom.
You wash your face.
You look at the scrawny looking figure staring at you in the mirror.
You should be happy.
Remember what day it is??
You make your way to your closet and pull out your uniform.
At least they can't make fun of what you wear.
You pull on your clothes and look at yourself in the mirror.
Remember??
Well you should do.
It's your birthday.
Your 15th birthday.
You grab your school bag.
You head downstairs.
You head for the front door.
"Where do you think you're going you bitch?!?!"
A voice calls out to you from the kitchen.
"Well answer me you filthy piece of shit!!"
The voice is getting louder.
You turn around.
A drunken figure is making its way towards you.
The figure is carrying something.
"Don't fucking look at me like that!!"
The figure is you dad.
He's carrying an empty vodka bottle.
He goes to take a gulp from the bottle.
He see's that it is empty.
He throws it at you in a rage.
"you fucking whore!!"
The bottle hits you on the head.
"You've been drinking my fucking vodka you piece of shit!!"
This is the last thing you remember.
You black out.
You open your eyes.
You are in the living room.
You are on the couch.
You feel a sharp pain on your head.
You touch the point of pain.
You see blood.
You see blood on your fingertips.
You begin to panic.
Everything is a blur.
You try to pull yourself up off the couch.
You can't seem to move.
You try to call for help.
Not a sound comes from your mouth.
No-one is around.
You panic even more.
You realize you are in a bag.
A clear bag.
A body bag.
Well, that explains the blurred vision.
You hear the living room door open.
Two people walk in.
They open the bag you are in.
You wonder.
Why are you in a body bag?
The people are looking at you.
They start examining you.
They see your scars.
The scars from the 15 years of abuse.
Yea, that's right.
Abuse.
Your dad had been beating you up for the past 15 years of your life.
And now because of this abuse...
You are dead.