SerenityJS

Open cans lay strewn on a wobbly table that sat in the middle of the floor. The carpet smelled of urine and alcohol which made the whole house stink. In the corner of the room sat a small kerosene heater which at that time was on. In the small town Newland the heater usually did stay on as the weather was always cold. The windows were covered with dark blinds and even darker curtains giving the house a haunted look and feel. In the front of the room sat an oversized TV but the only thing playing on it was white snow. The house was sparsely furnished with no amenities. At that moment the house was silent and Danielle sat crouched behind the couch staring at white snow falling on the TV screen. Her existence, a sort of brutal rerun of a horror flick, was sobering and pathetic. This was her favorite spot in the house.

In the corner by the back bedroom there was a tiny closet. The closet would remind one of a broom closet, or a small cupboard. The closet, now bare, was Danielle’s place of punishment, her nightmare. She would stay as far away from the closet as possible and the other side of the couch, where the draft was sometimes so cold as to give her goose bumps, and the noise of the wind could be heard as it crept inside to make a cold horrific atmosphere even more frigid, was that point. If she was real quiet sometimes he did not even notice her. Her silence spoke volumes if someone was willing to listen, but this was not the case and Danielle knew that better than anyone.

Born on April 7, 2002, Danielle was a small child. Her birth weight was only 4.5 pounds as she was born 2 months premature. The doctors revived her more than once during those critical moments as her mother gave birth. I am sure, could she remember this now, she would ask herself, why? Her hair consisted of big orange curls that bounced on the top of her head when she walked like miniature slinky’s . Her freckled nose and strawberry shaped face made her a very pinchable child. Teachers were always rubbing her head or pinching her cheeks when her father would pick her up from school. He would smile like the loving parent he was and answer, “Yes I know, this is my girl! Aren’t you hunny? “Like the dutiful daughter she was her answer was,” yes”, as she would say with emphasis followed by, “this is my daddy!” as if a thief was there to take him away. At hearing her say this, her father would always pat her on the back and praise her. Perhaps, this is why she said it.

However, back in the car, the dialogue was usually a lot different between parent and child. He would look at her with his big bug eyes and large nose that had hair growing from it and smirk, “you think you’re something, don’t you?” To this, her reply was always, “no, daddy”, I am no one special. The ride home would usually consist of him telling her how stupid her mother was, pausing between sentences with phrases like, you know, don’t ya think? To these questions she had better answer yes and she knew this very well.

Danielle could not remember a day that had gone by in the last month where he had not come for her. She could hide but if he called she would always come running. The consequences for disobeying a direct order were ten times worse than her just going and getting it over with.

Like always he would be standing shirtless in his bedroom. He was nice to her now and would politely ask her to lock the door. “Yes, daddy”, she would always reply. At least she got his attention this way. Usually, and today was no different, he would call her over to the bed and have her undo his belt, unbutton his jeans, and let them fall to the floor. At this point she always paused, unsure of exactly what he wanted on this day. She was a woman, had been for some time! He knew this, this is why he called her. He always said she was his special little woman. He said she was the only one that could make him happy. On this day, though, things were different.

Today he asked her to undress in front of him. As she did his rough fingers caressed every angle of her 13 year old body. He slowly ran his hands down her thighs and around her nipples, causing them to become hard and erect. Her body began tingle as goose bumbs ran all over, playing hide and seek on her skin. His eyes looked her up and down, and to her surprise, she felt very uncomfortable. On this day, his eyes were evil, as if she had in some way let him down. After a moment or so where her soul hung in limbo he turned away.

What was wrong, she wondered? Suddenly, he spun back around and with a violent force struck her. He was different today, and she was suddenly afraid. He did not have to hit her, she reasoned, she was very obedient. However, before she could even get the words out his violent arm struck her again, knocking the wind from her chest. “Not another word!” he exclaimed. To this, Danielle was silent. Per, his instructions, she turned around and faced the wall. She could feel his manhood behind her, as he pushed her face into the pillows. Following this, the worst pain she had ever felt seized her as he forced himself in that small opening between her cheeks. On this day, she knew, she was not his little woman anymore. On this day she became his number one enemy. Of course, he would not know this, but she did, and that gave her some satisfaction.

On that day, 3 times, on other days 1 time. She never knew, she never asked. Obedience allowed her to survive. At first she hid her bruises, but as her attitude became darker, meaner, she surmised that there was no point. Of course, she lied about where she got them. To expose that would likely be certain death.

She thought about telling her mother more than once, and always decided against it. Her mothers life was no easier that hers was, so why would she make it worse. For the next 4 years this was Danielle’s life. As violence began to take control of her she learned of other outlets for her pain. She rarely smiled and if you caught her smiling it was probably over a sarcastic remark she had just made to one of her few friends.

Something was different on Jan 2, 2013. Her father was in an unusually jovial mood and her mother seemed to go along, feeling like she could be more of her self. Her mother finally drove off for work leaving the two of them alone once more. Father and daughter were both lovers and, enemies. Her father told he she would not be going to school today. When she threatened to go anyway he smiled and showed her the car keys.

It was an especially cold day, 20 degrees and the wind howling and whistling as if a storm was slowly rolling in. The ground was frozen from the night before and a sheer blanket of frost covered everything making her yard look like a fogged up windshield. She turned to face him, but said nothing, and neither did he. He just walked away and she went to her room. Headphones blaring, she did not hear the commotion as two companions of her fathers showed up. She did not hear their jokes and snarls as her father rambled on about how good his daughter was in bed. It was only when her father bust through her door was she aware of anything.

Two men came into her room and grabbed her by her arms. Danielle tried to fight screaming and kicking, spitting, cursing, and even biting. Alas, to no avail they were much stronger. The details of that day need not be discussed as we all can imagine what happened. After a while though, Danielle quit fighting. Like always, the obedient little daughter took it.

As her mother pulled in the drive way Danielle became very paranoid. Her fear at what her mother would do if she found out, or what her father would do to her if she overreacted multiplied itself into a giant leviathan standing right in front of her. She held her breath as her mom entered the house. It was not long before her mother surmised what was going on. Danielle was confused because she did not look surprised or even angry. Her response was a monotone, “oh, I thought you would have finished by now.”
Then, just as casually as she walked in the house, she walked out. She never once looked at Danielle in the face. Her mother did not even acknowledge her presence.

After that day Danielle stopped caring even more. She became the grunt of society, the street whore, the sidewalk bitch. The only time she went home was to steal money or clothes, otherwise she slept on sidewalks, in benches, in abandoned cars and houses, or with someone she did not know but allowed her to sleep over for a couple of favors. She hated her life, and did not care for anyone or anything.

A 17 the child in a woman’s body had been knocked up 2 times already. Using prostitution as a means to get money for an abortion was her way of dealing with the problem. But this too caused painful scars on an already infected wound. She could not, did not want to deal any more. The time had come, her time, to die. There would be no note. Danielle preferred to use her actions as a way of telling the world what had happened to her.

On March 10, 2015, Danielle, on a cool spring evening showed up at her parents house. She knew no one would be there right now and so she would have a few minutes.
Going into her bathroom she plucked a single solitary sharp blade from a brand new razor. As a test she ran the blade across her finger. At the site of her blood she became aroused and excited. For the next couple of hours she listened to the commotion as her mother, father, and some chick she had never met all came home. Each were drunk and the words that spewed out of there mouth were as vile as her own. Its alright! The time was near.

A midnight, when the house was calm, and everyone was sleeping, Danielle emerged from her room. Taking one final look around and surmising that there was nothing keeping her here she crept into her parents bedroom. She paused and watched the two of them sleeping. Peace is what she saw and her anger boiled over. Her dad ly there mouth open, slow steady breaths escaped in pattern and his arms and legs lay sprawled out amongst the covers. Taking one final look at them both she bent down and made one single slice into her fathers arm. The blade was so sharp he did not even feel it.
Then she made another slice in his other arm. Again, nothing and for a moment she watched him bleed.

For the better part of a moment she watched him before nudging him awake. His eyes said everything that needed to be said and he watched as his only daughter slit both her wrist and held them over his. Looking into each others eyes they made their peace. When he was completely still, with the last ounce of strength she had left, she nudged her mother. At that all she could do was lay down. The screams that came from her mother only disturbed her for a minute. After that the black became white. The mad became peace, and the insanity was finally sane.

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-Jennifer Smith

Battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster and if you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes into you.

Friedrich Nietzsche

EmptyMemory

Man, that gave me chills. Sadly, quite a few women get abused in the same way, and end up commiting suicide. In my opinion, 'the black became white.' is a genius line. Your a really good writer.
Connor

Chris Miller

Nice prose. Especially liked the clean straight forward statements of the beginning part. Although the revenge was nice, it all felt a little too pat and contrived. You would seem to have the skills and mind to explore this a bit more deeply, as in less generally. I really love the omniscient POV used here.


...her parents bedroom.
parents'


Her dad ly there...
lay


At that all she could do was lay down.
lie

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the fairwriting blogs


"Almost brilliant."
My most recent peer review!

SerenityJS

Chris, thank you for the typo and grammer reminders. I am very new to this, actually this is my first short story. Any other pointers would be appreciated.

__________________
-Jennifer Smith

Battle not with monsters lest ye become a monster and if you gaze into the abyss the abyss gazes into you.

Friedrich Nietzsche

Chris Miller

Very, very impressive first effort. I encourage you to persist.

__________________
the fairwriting blogs


"Almost brilliant."
My most recent peer review!

CelticRose

This is so great for a first story. It seemed so true to the reality that is the life of so many girls in this world. It was, like any good read of this sort, chilling. I urge you to continue with writing. It was very enjoyable!

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A lame signature is better than a nonexistent one

Lawfire

Wow. Very nice. I'd like to see more of your writing.

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Oh, I'm not a writer, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night.