A Cracked Star

January 2008

 

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, the amount of times I’m crying myself to sleep, either from my father and his. . . new hobbies, or just me making a fool out of myself with my emotions. Each passing day is starting to feel more and more bleak to me as the idea that mother isn’t coming for me sets in.

 

The only way for me to tell the time is from the sound of my father’s footsteps. They just seemingly stop and begin throughout the day, either from him going to sleep or leaving, whose to tell. I can’t say since the room I’m in is normally pitch black, save for the time’s he comes to mess with or beat me.

 

Like now for instance, a small light is lit by the doorway as I lay on the rotten wooden floor. My father sits in a chair a few feet away from me as he eats from his bag of chips. 

 

“You know . . . *crunch*. . It’s so much more pleasing to look at you all chained up and covered in mud like right now.” He says in between chips. “Reminds me that my life has been *crunch* more freeing after I just gave into my desires.” 

 

“Father, what did I do to deserve this?” I ask with a hoarse voice.

 

Come to find out, speaking hurts so much more when you barely receive any source of liquids for hours, in between days. My body is probably at its weakest it's ever been, I still have a small range of motion with the chains holding me here. 

 

“Hey.” He says quickly before slapping me across my face. “I never said you could speak.”

 

I feel my blood boiling, unable to tell if it's my body getting sick or my anger reaching levels unlike ever before. Father laughs as he looks at me, struggling to keep myself sitting up. 

 

“Aaaas I was saying . .*crunch* . . ah.” My father flinches as he pulls out a broken chip from his mouth. “Fuck, I can never eat these without stabbing the roof of my mouth.”

 

He turned to finish the rest of his bottle, throwing it to the side before getting up to leave. At the door he turned his head slightly to look at me, “Whatever, to answer your question, you wouldn’t even understand the reasons I hate you to this extent even if I told you.”

 

March 2008

 

I find myself scavenging through the garbage left in my room for any source of food. I don’t want to go another day hungry, or starving I should say. I believe it was sometime in the middle of the night when father visited me before shortly heading upstairs. 

 

He didn’t say much to me, he barely has in the past few days or weeks. Most times it’s to watch me suffer from whatever he does to me. My body burns deep within me, fighting off whatever sickness I have. Countless nights I wake up shivering, trying my best to stay warm even with how torn my clothing is. 

 

Cursing the man who I believed and trusted before being taken to this place. Every day I slowly lose more and more hope in ever being found. The idea that my mother is even looking for me is slowly dying within me.

 

All I ever wanted was to enjoy my free time with my father whenever he was home from work. All those times he would look at me, his eyes squinting, I never thought much of it. Just that he was tired, or sick, something like that. 

 

But sitting here, in this dark room, prison cell or whatever, only reminds me of how free I truly was before. The nights I spent with my mom as we went to our favorite location to look at the night sky on weekends. 

 

Oh how I wish I could be away from this place without a thought in my head. Who knows, maybe my father would have loved me if I couldn’t think for myself. 

 

I sometimes find myself wondering if I’m going insane to be honest, I go to bed hearing the sound of wolves. As if they were trying to find me, to watch over me, always letting me know they were there. I just had to find them.

 

May 2008

 

My senses grow duller with each day as my sickness continues to flare up. The duller I become, the more scared my mind gets as I feel myself sinking further and further into a dark abyss each night. Only to be corrected every new day as my father beats me. 

 

Some days are better though, funnily enough, he would sometimes come down completely drunk, to the point I could smell the alcohol the moment he stepped through the door. Talking about how his future would have been so much better had he never met my mother. 

 

He’d still have been an ace player for his college and not an accidental cheating shit. He claims that I am the spawn of Satan, with my deep violet colored eyes, the nightmares he had after I was born. 

 

“I never thought that one of the many battles in life I’d face from God, would be that I was to care for the spawn of one of the evilest beings in hell.” He said in a drunken fever as he beat me with his belt. Each strike filled entirely from his resentment, leaving me gasping for air in between each strike. 

 

And every time, he yells out that he doesn’t know what sins he has done to deserve this test from God. Not knowing that that is exactly what I’ve wanted to know all this time. 

 

Why me? Why must I face these trials, if he’s so great and benevolent, forgiving even to the biggest sinners, why must I go through this?

 

Every passing day only fuels my ever growing hatred and hunger for righteousness against this man who is the greatest sinner in my eyes. A howl growing in strength within me along with my hunger and anger. Just waiting to lash out when given the chance.

 

I never wake up without nightmares, at this point I don’t even know what a good night of sleep is. The food I find in the trash though has been getting better, not knowing if it’s because of his declining mental state.

 

June 2008

 

One day father let it slip out during one of his many drunken nights about how the cops are continuously looking for him. The struggles he has to go through in black markets or how he has to be secretive in local places. Apparently, from the small bits of conversation I hear upstairs, hurricane season is supposed to be bad this year. 

 

I guess that information was correct as recently storms have begun to pick up. Growing larger and louder with each passing day. I sometimes wake up to myself falling through broken wooden boards from the rain that is leaking through into this room.

 

I didn’t know then that this was only the beginning of my suffering, the filth’s mind only becoming more cruel with time. As if he wasn’t satisfied with what he’s done to me over this long time of dread.

 

The mind of this filth seems to have finally broken however, either from the insane amounts of alcohol he drinks or god finally broke him as he came into my room today with a lantern on his hip and some large contraption that he carries with his arms. A machine with hooks on the end that hang over what look to be slots for fingers.

 

“God has graced me on this lovely day. Giving me visions, my sight has never been clearer. I can finally see the way forward.” He says as he straps my left hand into whatever contraption he’s brought with him.

 

Not noticing as I struggle to pull my hand away. “You will be cleansed of your sins, you monster. I’ve overlooked your existence long enough and finally have been shown what I must do with you. You must be declawed before you can be released.”

 

Declawed? He doesn’t mean my fingers does he?

 

As if to answer my thoughts, he takes a hook on the contraption, putting it under a fingernail before growing the tension with the string holding the hooks.

 

“Oh lord, I am here tonight with a sinner, the greatest of all, for her existence is the downfall of all that is holy.” He says, slamming his hand down on the first lever. 

 

I don’t feel anything as I watch the hook pull off my fingernail, skin tearing off with it from where it connects. The moment I understand what just happened is when I feel my mind start to break. A searing pain shoots from my finger to my head. Slamming me with pain I never thought possible. 

 

The times he beat me with his belt or bat were nothing to what I felt now. The cold air being carried in from the storm through the door would blow over the now new wound. It was a weird sensation as while the air was cool the feeling it gave me only burned deeper inside me.

 

I screamed from the pain, thrashing on the ground as my arm stayed stationary with the machine. I only wanted to get away from it, but the tension between my finger and hook only made the pulling sensation worse in my mind. 

 

“Through your loving arms, grace this child with your presence as they are cleansed.” He pulls another lever down. Repeating what I just went through, leaving no time for me to rest. “They are but a lonely lamb, lost without your gracious guidance.” 

 

It’s like the pain multiplied as I recoiled, the pain growing with each lever as he continues to spout his nonsense. As time went on letting each finger on my left hand bleed, I grew more and more angry within the pain, cursing out at the world with a hoarse voice. 

 

If only my mother didn’t push for this man to stay in her life this would have all been avoided. If only she had found me would I have been able to sleep comfortably through the nights. If only.

 

This filth, in his ecstatic emotions, watched over me physically relishing in it as if he got off from my cries. Praying to whatever god he believed in, dancing, as I layed next to the machine, hand still strapped in. The pain continues to grow as I feel myself losing consciousness. 

 

Days have passed since then, my nightmares have only been growing worse both in the number of nights and the quality of them. I wish my mind would break already, but for some reason, I could feel that this was impossible for me, as if I’m cursed. 

 

I’ve started to believe that this filth was right, that I’m a monster because I doubt any normal person would have been able to think as clearly as I am with everything he’s put me through.

 

July 2008

 

I feel myself being dragged, something pulling on my neck as I slide across a dirty floor. Opening my eyes, I find myself in a familiar room, dark, worn down, and damp. Hearing the clinking of chainlets as I continue to get pulled. 

 

Looking at the source of the sound, I see the filth, bottle of his favorite drink in hand, holding the chain with his other hand as he mutters to himself angrily. 

 

Without a care in the world he dragged me across the broken wooden stairs, uncaring if I gained any new cuts. I only wanted to escape, to get out of this place and go home, a home without this filth able to ever look at me again.

 

Eventually we make it to the kitchen with a pot on the stove as he ties the chain around a post so I can’t try to run. I feel myself crying with tears, something I thought myself incapable of, knowing that my suffering will only continue as he grabs the pot, bringing it over to me before setting it on the ground. 

 

I scream out as best as I can, only muffled noises come from the gag that is placed around my mouth. Fear takes hold as I claw at the floor hoping to get away, to escape this dreadful place. Feeling my remaining nails on my other hand break and give free as I am grabbed by my leg, the man pulls me to the pot as I remember what was in it. 

 

Grabbing my right arm as he forces it into the boiling pot of water. I feel my skin being scorched, peeling and tearing as he continues to hold me in place. I can’t think of anything, my mind blank as the pain sears into the deepest parts of my mind. 

 

Branding me with its presence, unlikely to ever escape it as every time I think I would grow used to it, life proceeds to throw me into a new pit of pain.

 

Eventually after what felt like an eternity, the man brings hand out. I breathe quickly and heavy through my nose as I struggle for air. Trying to steady my breathing, failing all the same, my body reacting as if my efforts are laughable.

 

From here on, I find myself going in and out of consciousness as the scenery changes. For the first time in ages, I am able to see the outside again, the night sky that I missed so so much. To the point that I forgot about the pain ever so slightly. The full moon looked beautiful out tonight as it hung high above everything.

 

On the other side of the sky, I could see it starting to bleed with color, a large mixture of red, orange, and dark blue. It shined beautifully in my dull world of gray. Color me surprised as I never thought I'd see the sky again. The night sky slowly recedes as it becomes daytime, I feel a weight that I never realized I had started to go away as I finally get to see the sky. Even if it hurts to see so much light once again.

 

My thoughts were interrupted as I felt myself launch into the back of the truck at the sudden stop, the filth getting out as he made his way over to me. Dragging me from the truck by my long hair with me kicking and struggling to make it away.

 

I don’t know how far I was dragged for, only gaining more mud on my already dirty clothes and body, before he stops. He pulls me up, bringing me to eye level as I dangle by my hair. I can still feel my body trying to give out as I stare at the man I hate the most in the world.

 

“This is it scum. I’ve had enough of dealing with you rotting in the bottom of my house. I have to leave this place anyways as the feds are slowly closing in on my location, so I decided to get rid of you instead of letting them find you.” He says as he draws his free arm back. His fist curled up as he slams his knuckles into my face, knocking me out.

 

Leaving me to die helplessly out in the wilderness as he drops me to the ground. Unaware of the beasts watching this happen from a distance. I layed on the ground as the morning sky crept further across.