A Good Man Died

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: December 30, 2017

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Submitted: December 30, 2017

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I sat abandoned in my room, neglected and abused. Green bruises marked my face, still stinging, and tear tracks ran down from my eyes. Mama said, again, for me to mistrust her ‘” He didn’t mean it sweetie, it was by accident. It won’t happen again, I’ll protect you.”’ Yet here I was again, broken on the floor, and my mother was nowhere to help. My father, my abuser, lay downstairs, intoxicated and passed out. Bottles smashed on the floor. Blood spots where somebody had been hit, or had stepped on the glass.

Let me explain- There was once a time I could step outside my house without the fear that someone would be shocked with my bruised body. There was once a time where I enjoyed the company of my father, and my mother, and we would go out for meals, shopping trips and holidays, where we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Then he lost his job, his job that he loved, and he got payed well for. Apparently, it had been shut down, or something like that. I didn’t know the exact details. But it changed. My father, a cheerful, middle-aged man, was no longer cheerful. He was sullen, and his eyes had sunken back into their sockets. His hair was falling out, and it became more obvious every day. His lips turned a more yellowish colour, and his teeth turned black. He was a modern-day monster, yet my mother and I refused to believe it.

Let’s just say I didn’t refuse it for very long. He was violent, aggressive and somewhat unforgiving for what he did. The first night was terrible. I had, fortunately, already gone to bed, but that didn’t stop me from waking up the shouting. A battle of the voices, as they once said. Then she started wailing like a baby. I don’t know what happened exactly, but she was limping for the rest of the week.

I had gone to phone someone, Childline, the police, or even the hospital for my mother, but I was met with a whispered threat. “If you even think about pressing a single button to call someone on that phone of yours, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it, and I’ll throw you out afterwards.” It wasn’t a whisper as I thought he intended, but more or a broken snarl down my ear. Whatever it was, it was enough for me to put the phone down and try to walk away. I didn’t get far until I was pulled back, and a sharp fingernail was put down the side of my face, hard. The pain was enough to make me whimper, and my lower lip to wobble, ready to cry. I ran and made it to my room before the tears started flowing.

Once I thought my father could have been a nice man, but now I know he can’t.


© Copyright 2020 Stephanie Tovey. All rights reserved.

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