The Knock at the Door

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

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This is pure fiction, the characters, plot, and occurrences in the story are all made up. Although things like this could happen in real life :'(





“I am beautiful, and I am loved, and I am worthy of life. I belong in this world and deserve to be happy.” I murmured to myself in the mirror. I frowned, eyeing my countles flaws in the mirror. My eyes stung as I compare my ugly face to my mother's gorgeous one. Why couldnt I have been born more like her?

My hands drifted up to my hair which lay doopily in a messy bun. My dark make-up was less than perfect against my sickly, pale skin. The stunning red, sparkly dress I had on that belongs to my mother only made me look ugly and deformed, just like my mother always told me I am. My reflection smiled at me snarkily.

“That’s all lies and you know it. I mean, look at you, even your dog ignored you and found you disgusting before you let it out into freedom. And don’t even get me started on how most boys react to you. Hell, even your mother wishes you were never born!” My reflection’s laugh seemed to echo.

I felt a tear rush down my face and lower my head and arms down to the sink counter. I wanted to just curl up in a ball and die. My reflection was right. I hear a knock at the front door and quickly scoop up a shirt to throw over my ugly body, covering the ill-fitting dress. I walk up to the door and open it slowly.

A man is standing there, I couldn’t help but stare up at him in awe. He was taller than me and was probably in his early twenties. He had a tan, muscular face with stunning blue eyes that seemed to catch every detail. He looked down at me and smiled, lighting up his whole face and somehow causing it to reach god-like attractiveness. I had never seen a more handsome male in my short life-time.

“Hello there, you must be Sydney.” He chuckled, beaming down at me like I was a golden statue. I nodded shyly, beginning to fidget with the oversized white shirt I was wearing. My stomach dropped to the floor as I began to feel depressedly self-conscious, mother would probably laugh at me and call me stupid for trying to be pretty like her. He smiled down at me and peeked through the crack in the door.

“I’m here for your mother, do you know where she is?” I felt my heart fall to the ground following in suit of my stomach. Of course he’d be here for her. My mother always has a way with men, which sadly, wasn’t a passed down quality. I shook my head.

“Sorry, she hasn't been home for…” I scrunched up my nose in thought. If my mother were here she would have slapped me because she always said it was unattractive when I did it. I could just imagine the reek of alcohol on her breathe as she yells at me, even when she is absent. I shiver in fear, and return my gaze to the man’s beautiful blue eyes. “I believe a few weeks.” I finished, unsure.

The man on the other side of the door stood up straighter and stared at the wall absently, nodding thoughtfully. He looked down at me again, an expression of concern passing over his face.

“If she hasn't been her for that long, then how are you getting fed?” At the mention of food, my stomach growls, seemingly awoken by the mention of sweet, savory nutrition. I hadn't eaten in a couple of days, and since I already finished off my mother’s secret stash of food she kept for herself, the house was barren. I shrugged and grabbed a hold of my stomach tightly, as if to coax it to stop quaking in pain. I smiled at the man despite the agonizing ache.

“Not in a bit, but it’s all right. Momma said that I am too fat and need to lose weight anyways.” The man’s eyebrows scrunched together again, sympathy and a tint of anger laced his gaze.

“How old are you Sydney?” He asked softly, despite his hardened expression. I felt suddenly shy again and more than a little bit self-concious under his gaze. I begin to feel a little bit afraid of this strange man, the urge to close the door growing within me, but I decided to ignore it for a bit longer.

“I’m 12.” I murmur, looking at the floor. Momma used to tell me to lie about my age and say I was 16 to the people she introduced me too. I wince just thinking about the endless list of punishments I’d receive if she heard about this. He smiled at me and reached down a hand.

“Well Sydney, how about I take you out to get some food and then we can meet with a few of my friends that I work with?" I nodded hesitantly, ignoring his hand and walking out from behind the door, closing it behind me slowly as I stepped out into the apartment hallway. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number, tapping his foot impatiently. He placed it up to his ear and a person picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Monica.” He began, flashing a quick glance at me. “I got Hana Andrews’ daughter here, It’s even worse than we thought. Hana isn't here, so we need to have the apartment monitored in case she eventually shows up. I’m going to take her to get some food, the poor thing probably hasnt eaten in days. Tell Chief I’ll be back at the station as soon as I can.” He hung up and gave me an $1000 smile and walked over to where I stood, a few feet away.

“I never did introduce myself, did I Sydney? Well, My name is Detective Alex Jones, but you can call me Alex.” I gave him a weak smile, my stomach rumbled and burned, causing me to double-over in agony. It took a few minutes before I could actually stand back up, but when I did a look of seriousness was now on Detective Jones’ face.

“Ok then, on that note, let's get some food in you, and don't worry.” He said, giving my small, fraile shoulder a small squeeze of assurance. “You are safe now, Sydney.” And with that, we walked away from my old life forever.





Submitted: April 11, 2018

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Add Your Comments:



A fantastic write, more than likely all too often true. You gave just enough detail to show the true extent of the horror -- much more effective than going in to detail.

Wed, April 11th, 2018 8:41pm


Ah, this is very (and unfortunately) real... You did a great job in showing the abuse rather than straight up telling it, and that makes it all the more efficient. How you show the girl's discomfort with her body as well as her forced (at least that's how I percieved it) way of looking at men was very well executed, with enough subtlety that we don't feel like we've been given a direct access into her psyche. It felt to me like, as a reader, I was barely reaching the surface of the damages her mother did to her.
I like that it's hopeful, too. Stories like this too often end with utter despair in my opinion - this brings hope, and shows that there's still good in the world. I have no doubt that this little girl will heal and find people who actually love and support her.
In terms of pure writing style, I have very few things to say: it's subtle, nuanced, and efficient. Very concrete, too; you don't use any image or metaphor, but it's not a bad thing. There are a few instances where I felt the punctuation could be improved, though! I made a few comments directly on the text regarding this.
All in all, a well-written story that tackles a difficult subject with tact and hope!

Wed, August 1st, 2018 12:13pm

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