"It snowed today, piling to about a foot. It was gruesome for me to still be inside. The temperatures fell to the lowest, but all I had was a tattered blanket; the house didn't have a heater in the basement.
I lay quiet, because any moment, Father would come home. Alcohol in his breath, dirt in his mind, and filth in this heart. Angry, from all the work he had to do, from all the bills he had to pay, from the burden I carry.
I am his rag doll.
A jingling of a man's keys from the front door, the noise I hear every 4:30 afternoon, sends my spine twisting. I knew what was coming. I still lie quiet, because in a moment he will call me, burst through the door, and have his weapon his his hand, a vodka bottle in the other. That was exactly what happened. The next thing on his schedule was to take out all his anger from the day on me.
His face twisted this fury, my heart beating. I could tell by his eyes, he was fired from his job. That means he will not earn any money, meaning there will be no food. And from there, having an extra person, me, to care for would be more difficult.
Tonight will be twice as painful.
I sighed, sat up, ready to face him. I knew what was coming for me. I was use to it by now, ever since my mother died. From there, he became crazed.
I'm surprised I'm still alive.
I greeted him as usual.
He cursed, unaware of the fact that cursing in front of an eight year old, was a sin.
Then, he beat me.
I died that day, but I died with sorrow in my heart, not with pain from the beating: I died with the memory of him, two years ago, promising that he will teach me how to ride a bike, and bring me to the new park.
He never did."
End child abuse.