the life of Ann

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
this is the tragic story of a young girl born into a life of neglect and abuse. what chance does she have in a life that goes from one tragedy to the next? all she has ever wanted was to be loved. will her experiences make her stronger or will the cycle of abuse repeat itself?

Submitted: December 11, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 11, 2015



My name is Ann Mallory. What I write now is the disparaging story of my life. All that I have lived to regret, all that I wish I could change, all that has gotten me to where I am now, writing this letter. I haven’t lived a long or pleasant life. It has always been one devastating event to the next, leaving me in a continually deteriorating physical and mental situation from the one before. It has all lead to the most soul crushing event of my self-loathing life: that is, the life of Ann.

My life started on a morbid path from the very moment of my birth. My mother died when I was just three months old. I knew little about her and even less of the short time I spent with her. I was never shown a picture of her so I never even knew what she looked like. My father did little to share with me what I desperately wanted to know about her. Over the years I pieced together an image of my mother, who she was and what she looked like. I would get clues from my father who would make a reference about her from time to time. He once said that I reminded him of her as we shared a lot of the same physical features. From what I gathered, she was a working woman who was known for her drug abuse.

We both had blond hair and green eyes. I was told that my mother went back to drug use and prostitution shortly after my birth. During this time she also fell back into hanging out with her crowd of unsavoury characters. I was never told what the cause of her death was. I imagined she either died from a drug overdose or was murdered by one of her clients. I never had a true stepmother so I would often imagine she was still alive to take care of me and mother me.

My father wasn’t very caring or gentlemanly in any sense of the word. He made it known, in no uncertain terms that I was not wanted. He gained custody of me after my mother’s death. Apparently he had pretended that I just didn’t exist at all up until that point. I’m sure it damaged his pride when he had to explain where I came from to people. He worked as an accountant at a marketing center and it stressed him out quite a bit. He would always take that stress out on me whenever he could get away with it. He wasn’t a very large man, but that made none of the beatings he gave me any less severe or any less damaging.

When I was three years old my father sent me to a daycare. It was my happy place and I looked forward to getting dropped off there each morning. Mrs. Madison was a kind and caring woman who was six months pregnant when I first started to attend her daycare. I had trouble getting along with the other children and so I spent most of my time with Mrs. Madison. I would help her make snacks and treats for the other children. She was the only mother figure I would ever have, and one of the few people that actually cared about me. The other children would bully me relentlessly whenever Mrs. Madison wasn’t around to protect me. They would call me names like “crybaby”, and then push me down until I would cry once again.

When the other children weren’t picking on me I could still be found crying, especially when it was close to my pick up time. I dreaded my father coming to pick me up and take me away from Mrs. Madison. It didn’t take long before I felt more at home at Mrs. Madison’s daycare then I did when I was at my real home. Even with the other kids teasing me and picking on me, it was inconsequential compared to the names my father would use on me, not to mention how he would hit me. Three months after I started to go to Mrs. Madison’s daycare she gave birth to her baby and took a maternity leave. With her daycare not operating, my father would pass me off onto whomever he had been dating.

One of the girls he was seeing at the time was a girl named Rebecca. She was almost as awful as my father. Although she never hit me, she wouldn’t do much to help me whenever he did. In fact she would almost encourage the idea whenever I got on her nerves. She did little in the means of looking after me in any respect. Rebecca was a lot like my father and would spend as much time as possible pretending I wasn’t there. That meant that she would often forget to feed me or give me anything to drink. She would dress me in the morning and if I were to have an accident in my pants I would have to wait until the next day before she would change me again. I don’t believe that she ever once referred to me by my actual name the entire time she was with my father. She would call me little whore or the crack baby. Nicknames she picked up from my father.

It wasn't long after I turned four that I found out I would be going back to Mrs. Madison’s daycare again. I was filled with joy and relief. I was going back to my true home. Unfortunately I soon realized that everything would now be quite different. Mrs. Madison was constantly dealing with her new baby Mika. It seemed to me like he was constantly screaming and crying. He was so loud, and annoying, he took up all of Mrs. Madison's attention. I hated that baby immediately; I just wanted him to go away and for things to go back to the way they were before.

With Mrs. Madison always having to deal with her baby it meant that I had to spend more time alone with the other children. They picked on me much worse than they did before. The baby gates kept me from escaping. I was trapped in the living room with one baby gate blocking the entrance to the kitchen. That was the only path to get to anywhere else on this floor of the house. The other baby gate blocked off the stairs where Mrs. Madison would often go to diaper her screaming baby, leaving me surrounded by all the other children.

They would gang up on me leaving me helpless as they would roll me up in the carpet that lay in the middle of the room. They would taunt and tease me for being so weird and different. They didn’t understand my imagination or see my imaginary friends that had always been a part of my life, due to the lack of any real friends or toys to play with at home. They would mock the cheap and out-dated clothing I was forced to wear and the way I talked when my father had recently hit me in my face and left me with a swollen lip.

Mrs. Madison would always come down and rescue me as soon as it started but it was a significantly longer time than it had ever taken before. She would discipline the other children for the way they treated me which gave them more incentive to seek revenge on me. After some time, Mrs. Madison let me go upstairs to keep away from the other children so they wouldn’t be able to pick on me. She would leave me in the baby nursery as Mika slept. She would go downstairs and do activities with the other children.

The nursery was entirely blue, the walls, the carpet, all the toys, the clothing in the open closet and the furniture, all blue. While the baby slept, it was quite and calm, leaving me with a peaceful place to play with my many imaginary friends. Sometime I would just lie down quietly on the floor and imagine that I was with my real mother and living happily with her. Another fantasy I often had was to imagine that Mika would just disappear and Mrs. Madison would become my mommy. Sooner or later Mika would always wake up screaming and crying. I would go to the top of the stairs and call to Mrs. Madison that the baby was awake. She would come up the stairs and sooth the baby before we would return downstairs together. All my days spent at Mrs. Madison’s daycare followed that same routine.

Unfortunately, a day came, that started my life on yet another downward spiral. Mrs. Madison was taking us all outside but I asked if I could stay inside instead. I normally loved the outdoors, the big open space gave me a sense of freedom, but I was feeling particularly low that day and only wanted to be alone. Mrs. Madison agreed to leave me inside and put Mika down for a nap. When everyone was out in the backyard playing, I went into her bedroom and managed to pull myself up onto her bed. I lay on her bed cuddling one of her pillows. I fancied a happy life with her as my mother. I lost track of time and had no idea how long I had been laying there. I was so deeply into my fantasy world that I had almost fallen to sleep, almost, if it wasn’t for Mika.

Mika’s ear splitting cries and screams jarred me from my deep dream. I was forced back into the reality of my miserable life. It infuriated me. That stupid baby didn’t know how good he had it. He had the perfect mom and all he ever did was cry.  He didn’t deserve to have her. He was just a stupid baby, but she loved him more than anything. He got to live my fantasy everyday as I lived in his shadow. I hopped off the bed and started down the hall to the top of the stairs. I went down to the bottom step where the baby gate stood and tried to push it down, the entire time cringing as I listened to Mika still screaming.

I tried to call out to Miss. Madison that the baby was awake but she couldn’t hear me. I gave up calling her and climbed back up the stairs. Each step I climbed brought me closer and closer to that screaming baby, with the screams getting louder and louder. It was driving me insane I just wanted all that screaming to stop. As I reached the top step I wasn’t even able to hear myself think over the baby’s screaming!!! I needed to put a stop to it. I couldn’t handle another second of that baby’s crying, I burst into Mika’s nursery and started to yell at him to stop crying.


It didn't do any good of course as the baby just continued to cry. I grabbed hold of the railings on the side of Mika’s crib and shook it as I continued to yell at him to stop crying. It only made him shriek louder than before, it felt like my ears were bleeding and my head was about to explode! Eventually the side of the railing slid down from the side of the crib. I could now reach into the crib and grab hold of Mika. I pulled him out of the crib and onto the ground. I held him down forcefully by his shoulders and yelled, “STOP IT!!!” As I yelled, I lifted Mika up by his shoulders before slamming him back down again. I repeated this action again and again and again. With each slam to the ground Mika’s screams would become even more soul piercing. In fact the sound of that cry drives me insane still to this day.

I lost track of how long I had been hitting him off the ground. It had been like I wasn’t really there. It was what some would say was an out of body experience, like I wasn’t the one performing the gruesome act. It wasn’t until Miss. Madison’s blood curdling scream as she entered the room that brought me back to my senses and made me stop. I was stunned to the point that I couldn’t move a single muscle in my body. She rushed over to where I was and ripped me off of Mika and threw me aside. I landed hard on the ground near the doorway and I looked up to see Mrs. Madison holding her now silent baby in her arms as she sobbed uncontrollably.

I never wanted to hurt Mrs. Madison or to hurt anyone for that matter. All I had wanted was for Mika to be quiet. But now that he finally was I felt worse than ever. I had just hurt Mika the way that my father always hurt me. Not only that, but I had hurt Mrs. Madison as well. I spent most of my time feeling bad and sorry for myself, this was the first time I felt bad for someone else while being so ashamed of myself.

I went over to where Mrs. Madison stood crying but once I got close to her she firmly pushed me aside knocking me back to the ground. She lay Mika back down into his crib where he lay motionless. In a very soft voice and between her sobs, I was told to go downstairs. Her eyes never left her baby. I was filled with a tremendous feeling of remorse and guilt and followed her instructions without saying a word. I didn’t mean to hurt the baby.

Once I was downstairs where the other children were I could still hear Mrs. Madison crying and moaning. After some time had passed, I could hear her talking to someone on the phone. She was having a hard time speaking as she continued to cry. At first I assumed she was talking to her boyfriend Jack, but would later find out that she was on the phone calling 911 and my father. When she was off the phone she came down the stairs and walked passed all of us kids. She ignored the kids teasing me as they always did when I was in tears. Without a word, she just walked passed us and entered the kitchen where she sat quietly until the doorbell rang.

The events that followed all seem like a blur. Everything all happened so fast after that day. I’m not sure to this day who arrived to the house or in what order. I do remember that there were a lot of policemen, paramedics and of course my father. The paramedics didn’t stay for long. They just took Mika and left after a short conversation with Mrs. Madison and the police. I could hear the rest of them talking in the kitchen. I couldn’t hear all that was being said, but I could hear them say my name a number of times.

I became frightened. I knew I was in trouble and that my father would surely beat me when we got home. It seemed like the adults were in that kitchen for hours before they all came out in one big intimidating group and walked towards the corner where I sat waiting. They told me I did a very bad thing and that I would need to speak with some people. I shouted, “It wasn’t my fault, it was Mika’s, he wouldn’t stop crying.” As soon as those words left my mouth Mrs. Madison let out a loud gasp and started to sob again, she turned around and ran towards the kitchen disappearing behind the walls. It would be the last time I ever saw her.

Over the next several months or possibly the next year, I had gone to an endless number of places where I had to answer questions about Mika and what had happened that day. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was eventually sent to a psychologist.

I didn’t mind meeting with the psychologist since I spent most of the time talking about how I felt, rather than what I did to Mika. I still didn’t really understand why everyone was so interested in me and what I had done to Mika. I will always remember the day I was told that people were going to make a decision regarding who would take care of me and where I would live. I would either stay living with my father or I would go into a special home with other children that had behaviour problems. At the time I wasn’t sure which one frightened me more.

I hated living with my father, but I was terrified to think that I could be trapped with a bunch of other kids that would bully me. I was young and naive so whenever I was asked a question I would foolishly tell the truth, at the end of it all they decided that I was too young to understand what I did. It was decided that I would stay living with my father. My fate was sealed to that of abuse, neglect and any chance I might have had of a normal or happy life.

During that time I was left almost entirely untouched by my father. It was odd, but I never questioned him on it. I was just happy that the beatings had stopped. Unfortunately it was only to be short lived. After the hearings and the formal sentencing was made, the beatings started all over again. They became more frequent and much harsher than before. It wasn’t long after, that he found something far worse than any of his beatings to inflict on me.

It was just after I turned six years old that he abused me less and less until it almost completely ceased all together. He even stopped calling me the “little whore” and the “crack baby” and started complimenting me instead. He would tell me how beautiful I was and make comments about my lovely long blond hair. My father even started bringing gifts home for me when he returned home from work. Most often it was new clothing.

It was such a treat to have beautiful new clothing that felt so nice against my skin. It was so unlike all the clothing I was used to wearing that he had picked up from second hand shops or garage sales,I was much too young to understand his sudden change of heart regarding me, but it wasn’t long before it was all made horribly clear.

I had just gotten back from school after recently starting the first grade. Even though the other students weren’t picking on me, I was still having a hard time making friends. I was feeling so lonely and upset on this particular day that when I walked through my front door I slammed it behind me. I heard my father yell. “Don’t slam the Fucking DOOR!!!”

I knew instantly that he had been drinking since he was always much louder and angrier when drinking. I could also tell from the tone of his voice that he had been drinking for a while. He always became a heavier drinker when he didn’t have a woman in his life. I never liked any of the women he had brought home, no matter how long they would be around for. The only thing I liked about any of the women he would bring home was that it would stop his drinking.

His drinking personality differed completely from his sober self. I shouldn’t have been surprised; this had been the longest that I could remember him not having a woman in his life, so that meant that his drinking would progressively get worse. I took my shoes off and could see him coming towards me stumbling a bit on the way. When he made it over to where I stood he started to shout and yell at me about pretty much nothing, at least nothing that made any sense to me. I wasn’t upset or surprised with it ending with him grounding me. I stormed my way up to my room slamming the door behind me. “Don’t Slam The Fucking DOOR!!!”

Once I was alone in my room I collapsed onto my bed and cried as I often did. I hadn't been crying over my drunken father. I could handle his drinking, especially since he had stopped hitting me, it really didn’t bother me too much. I wasn’t even crying from the loneliness of having no friends. Throughout my entire life, I had been crying over the low, low feelings that plagued me. I would always have to fight the overwhelming depression and self-pity. After what felt like an hour, I could hear my father coming up the stairs; I sat up and pulled myself together as I wiped away my tears. He opened my door and stepped inside my room looking quite stern, and with a deep angry voice he looked me straight in the eye and said, “You know you have to be punished now.”

“No, what did I do?”

“You’ve been a bad girl and need to be punished.”

He then sat down beside me on my bed, and told me to get over his knee for a spanking. It was the first time he ever wanted to spank me. Back when he used to beat me it was either a smack across my face or he would hit me against my arm with his hand or belt. I knew that spanking was a common punishment for children, so I wasn’t overly concerned. I laid myself down across his knee and waited for the spanking to start. It may have been my first time being spanked but as soon as he started I instantly felt something was wrong. It didn’t hurt as much as when he beat me in the past but somehow it had been worse. I would have almost preferred to be smacked across the face instead of this. He would bring his hand down hard on my butt followed by a firm squeeze. I wasn’t sure why, but it felt worse to have him squeeze my butt then to smack it.  As the spanking continued he would squeeze harder and rub my cheeks. His hand started to do a lot more little squeezes, almost like a tremor in his hand. When the spanking was finally over he stood me up and with a smile said, “there now, that wasn’t so bad was it.”

I started to rub my butt because it was tender and sore now “No.” I said with a pout. He stood up and with his smile still in place said, “You know you look exactly like your mother.”

This became the standard routine, he would spank me and his hand would rub and squeeze me more and more each time. His hands would slide down and gently squeeze my inner thigh before he would eventually spank my bare bottom, with my pants down around my ankles. As young as I was, I still found it to be so humiliating. Especially when he rubbed his hands slowly between my legs, as time went on the spanking sessions increased. With each new encounter my father’s hand would get closer and closer to my vagina. Then one day he slipped his fingers inside me. I was too young to understand it was wrong. I thought it was what a spanking was supposed to be like. I thought it was normal and I was the only one who couldn’t handle it because I was used to being hit in the face. I tried to convince myself that it was normal and happened to other kids all the time. Deep within me I always knew that something was wrong, something just wasn’t right about the way he did it. Even when he would rub and squeeze me, I thought it was to make it hurt less and make it feel better.

As the years went on I continued to convince myself that it was normal. This kind of thing happens to other kids every day. It was easy to convince myself of this since it provided me with some comfort, besides he was always so kind to me whenever he wasn’t giving me a spanking. It was during this time that I discovered so much about my mother. My father was constantly telling me how much I reminded him of her in various ways. He still refused to answer my questions about her or to talk about her whenever I wanted to. It was only when he wanted to make a reference of about her. That was the relationship my father and I had for many years, for most of my childhood really. It was when I was twelve that our relationship took its biggest turn.

It was late one night when he entered my room and said it was time for another spanking. He sat on my bed and put me over his knee and pulled down my pants, as he would normally do. He began spanking me in his usual manner but then seemed to spend much more time rubbing and squeezing me than was typical. He would rub my inner thigh until he would slip his finger into me. That would usually be when I would start to cry. At that point in my life it was the most repugnant sensation. He ended up cutting out the spanking part of our sessions completely. He just proceeded to slide his finger in and out of me while I gritted my teeth with tears streaming down my face.

It hurt so much and made me feel sick to my stomach. I was always left feeling dirty and disgusted. I always tried to get him to stop by pushing his hands away and screaming at him to stop. He would just pull my hands away without saying a word and hold me more securely in place and become more aggressive. He soon wanted more of me and when he pulled his fingers out he began to unzip his own pants. He threw me off his knees and onto my bed. I landed on my belly and he quickly pulled me up onto my knees and I felt him pressing himself between my legs.

“No. Please…stop” I begged. In spite of my pleading, my father would not stop.

The pain when he slid into me was excruciating, I screamed out as he continued to thrust into me over and over again, each time it became more and more painful. Time seemed to drag on and I felt it would never stop. I would have done anything to make it stop. It was the most horrible experience as I could feel him ripping me apart inside. The moment he finished, he simply stood up, looked down at me weeping for a brief moment before he turned around and left my room without making another sound. I lay there for hours shaking and crying. I was still in a great deal of pain. I could still feel him in-between my legs where he tore me apart. When I sat up on my bed, I glanced down and saw blood on my bed sheets. He tore me apart that night.

I could barely stand to look at him at all after that. All I could see was the man who had violated me. He looked like a monster without a soul; with the only images that I could see in his eyes were the memories of the first time he took me and the lust in him. I knew he would do it again, sometime or another that sick monster was going to do it again and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Every time that he would talk to me, all I would ever hear was the sound of his loud grunts and moans when he had his way with me. I would avoid him far more than I ever had before, but with us both living in the same house it was next to impossible.

It was only the next morning when I went downstairs thinking I had been alone in the house. I saw him in the kitchen sipping on his cup of coffee. Without either of us saying a word, we both just stood there looking at one another. I could see him looking down at my private region.

He slowly looked up at me and told me he would get something to help with my problem now that I was a woman. That night when he got home, he came back into my room. Instinctively I pinned myself against the edge of my bedroom wall preparing myself for his advances. He looked at me for a moment before setting a box of tampons down on my dresser. He turned and exited my room. I had never seen or used such things before and didn’t know what they were or how to use them. It took some time, but I figured it out eventually.

Almost a week had passed before the bleeding stopped. It was almost exactly a month after the first time he took me that I started to bleed again. My father hadn’t touched me again since that first time. I didn’t know why I was bleeding so spontaneously. Luckily I still had some tampons left from before that I could use. It wasn’t for another year that I would learn that it had been a natural part of growing up and that it happened to all girls when they reached a certain age. Of course no one knew it, but mine didn’t start in a natural way.

My father no longer spanked me since he now found something he enjoyed so much more; it would happen five or six times a year. At first I always tried to fight back. I would hit him and throw things at him but eventually he would over-power me and pin me down and it would happen all over again. It went on for almost two years. Then I gave up hope and stopped even trying to fight back. I was doomed right from the start and fighting back made it worse; he would squeeze me harder and push my face deeper into my pillow suffocating me. I hit the point of self-loathing. I no longer cared what happened and stopped fighting back since it was inevitable that he would get his way.I just wanted it to be done and finished with as quickly as possible.

It was shortly after I started high school that I first met a girl named Diane. We were both in the same English class. She had long dark brown hair and green eyes. She was very short and extremely thin. She was the tiniest thing I had ever seen, if I didn’t know better I would have thought she was ten years old. It was near the end of the first week of school and the bell had just rung. I was leaning against the wall near the front doors of the school dreading having to go back home, With nowhere else to go I was in a hopeless situation, so I just stood for as long as I could before I headed back to that house. Diana came through the door with a group of students, mostly all girls. She saw me and broke off from the group she was with to come up to me. I didn’t know how to react, I had never talked to anyone outside of class. She walked right up to me with a big smile and said. “Hey, you’re that quiet girl in my class right?”

“Um mm yes,” I said, almost in a whisper.

“Do you smoke? You can come have a smoke with us!”

I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life but I was looking for any reason not to go home, and besides this was a chance to possibly make a friend. I had been shocked that she would just walk up and invite me to hang out. There was no way I was going to pass up the chance to make a connection with another human being for the first time since my daycare teacher back when I was a toddler. So despite the fact that I’d never smoked in my life, I lied and said that I did in fact smoke but was all out of smokes at the moment.

“That’s ok," she replied. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

After she handed me the cigarette she told me to come with them so I followed them to a nearby convenience store. A few of the kids went in and grabbed bags of chips and other snacks as the rest of us stood around waiting outside. They spent most of the evening asking me a bunch of questions about myself, where I was from, what I liked to do for fun, etc. I answered all their questions in as brief a way as possible. I didn’t talk too much as I was spending most of my time focussing on trying not to cough. I continued to smoke the cigarette while the others stood around talking and telling jokes.

The next day during my English class, Diane and I sat beside each other and spent the entire class whispering to each other. I felt very comfortable since it was just her and I and not the entire crowd of her friends. It wasn’t long after that Diane and I were always hanging out with each other. We would often go to her house after school or on weekends just to hang out. Diane was an only child with a single parent like myself. The main difference was that she had a loving mother.

She told me she had an abusive father when she was little but that her mother kicked him out when he started to abuse her and not just her mother. He ended up moving to a different town and she rarely ever saw him. I loved going over to Diane’s house, she may not have had very many nice or expensive things because she and her mother lived on welfare, but I didn’t care about any of that. Diane was an amazing girl who was willing to be my friend, even her mom accepted me with open arms. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

That had also been one of the happiest times of my life. Diana and I had become inseparable. Diane introduced me to her group of friends and we would all hang out together a few times a week. For the most part it was just Diane and I that would spend the better part of each day hanging out together. I ended up spending more nights at Diana’s house than my own. In fact the only time we were separated was on the rare occasion that I would actually go home. I wouldn’t let Diane or anyone else come over to my house for any reason. I didn’t want them to see the man I lived with.

On a few occasions, Diane and I would sneak into her mother’s room to take some of her weed. Before I met Diane I had never been exposed to it. You could always smell it in the house at night after her mom would smoke it. I was intrigued by the smell of it. Diane had said she had always wanted to try it but didn’t want to do it alone.  We both fell in love with it the first time we tried it.

I got such an amazing feeling after I smoked a little, it tended to make everything in my life feel less dark and a little more endurable. It wasn’t long after that we started to sneak into her liquor cabinet as well.  We would drink whatever we could find on the days that we couldn’t get high. We got into the habit of skipping school so we could wander around town while either high or drunk. Trouble would often find us when people would call the cops on us but we never stuck around long enough for the cops to find us.

One night when Diane and I were sixteen we were wandering around the downtown area, high on our stolen weed, when we were approached by an older man. He was wearing a long black coat and standing in the shadows. He was tall, muscular, and had his head shaved bald. With several cut marks on his head and face he looked very scary and I tried not to make eye contact with him.

He could tell that we were both high the moment he approached us. He asked us if we wanted to try something better. Diana had been giggling a lot and asked him what was better than weed? He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic box and opened it revealing what looked like small stickers.

“If you think weed is good then these things will blow your mind.”

Both Diana and I laughed! We couldn’t imagine getting high off of children’s stickers. We thought this guy must have being trying to scam us or was completely nuts. When we finished laughing he said that if we didn’t believe him he would give us both one for free, to prove he wasn’t lying. Still giggling, we accepted his offer. We asked him sarcastically, how we would find him if we wanted more of his “special stickers.” He smiled at us, “Ohhh, I’ll be around," the tone in his voice as he answered gave me the creeps.

We took our stickers from him and continued to the school.  We were in sight of our school when the L.S.D. hit us. Everything I looked at seemed to change. At first I thought it was the weed, until I glanced up at the crosswalk; it seemed like the little man in the walk sign was actually walking. He turned towards me and started to bang on the glass as if he was trapped inside. I glanced over to Diana to see if she saw it too. She was too busy staring at the bus stop bench, I saw nothing there but she definitely could. We both sat down and stayed there for hours feeling higher than ever and watching as the world changed before our eyes.

Diana and I made it a part of our routine to go back to the man with the stickers. We found out he went by the name Smack Jack. Once he started charging us we had to keep coming up with ways to get the money. We would steal a lot from our parents, but most of it came from selling the weed we took from Diana’s mother. The kids at our school became regular customers. We were in love with L.S.D., if we weren’t high on it, we were looking for a way to get some more. It even made it easier to deal with my father when he would have his way with me. I was still depressed and in a great deal of pain from it; he still haunted my dreams, but it was still more bearable than it was before.

The following year became one big blur of L.S.D. trips. It reminded me of the time I had spent with Mrs. Madison at the daycare, until my thoughts turned to Mika that is.  All the joy and happiness that I was feeling would come to an immediate halt as soon as my thoughts turned to him. Now that I was old enough to understand what exactly had happened that day, any reminder would instantly make me feel sick to my very soul. I felt like I was surrounded by demons and that Mika himself was haunting me and wanting revenge. It wasn’t far off from the truth; whether or not Mika was haunting me was irrelevant since I was haunted by his memory alone. There was no escape from those bad trips, once they started I had to sit and wait them out as I suffered through them.

During this time, Diana and I were having a more difficult time collecting the money we needed to support our habit. We ran a variety of errands and tasks for Smack Jack to pay for our fix. We often found ourselves delivering drugs to his clients and bringing him back the money. The people we were dealing with the most were the drug dealers, who we thought were the scum of the earth. Funny really, how I thought them to simply be homeless dirt bags that probably spent all their money to buy drugs, which was not completely unlike Diana and I.

I lived in fear of being homeless and living on the streets. That was the main reason I hadn’t run away from my home yet. I needed to secure a place to live once I left. Smack Jacksoon became that place. He had been having trouble keeping his business private from the cops and decided to skip town. He let Diana and I tag along. Diana didn’t have much reason for wanting to leave town since she had nothing she needed to run away from. She was simply a great friend who wouldn't let me go anywhere without her.

That night before we left town we spent our last night in our own homes getting everything packed into a single bag. It wasn’t hard to throw all my possessions along with everything I wanted or needed into one bag. I didn’t own many things to begin with and the things I did own I had sold long ago for drug money. Once everything was packed I suddenly felt a new feeling of freedom emerge. I knew it was only a matter of hours before I was free of this house and my father. I spent a great deal of time that night just thinking about my father as I sat restlessly in my room, thinking of  the various cruel and painful things he had done to me throughout the years. It didn’t feel right to just get up and go without letting him know that I wasn’t going be there for him to torment any longer. I needed to take back some of my lost strength and self-respect by having the tables turned on him for my final night. I wanted to have him at my whim. I needed to make him suffer the same way he had made me suffer for so many years. I gathered the tools I would need from throughout the house to do what I’ve long fantasized about doing for so many years.

After the clock hit three a.m., I opened the door to my father’s bedroom as quietly as I could. It was pitch black and I could barely see a thing. I could tell he was asleep was from his insufferable snoring.  He was passed out cold, nothing could wake him when he was in that state. I pulled out two pieces of rope and tied them around his ankles and around the frame at the end of his bed.

I then pulled out a roll of duct tape and secured both his arms to the bed frame above his head. One final strip of tape went across his mouth. I pulled the blankets off his body and cradled myself on top of him. With my knees on either side of his hips I stared down at him as I was towering over him, finally being the one in control.

I would no longer be his toy to do with as he pleased. Now he would be mine. I reached down and put my hand down between his legs and pulled down his pants slowly. I gently touched his private area which made him make some muffled sounds through the duct tape. He quickly became hard as I continued to touch him. I waited until I could see he was really enjoying it, and then I tightly wrapped my hand around all of his manhood and squeezed tightly.

He immediately woke up, startled, his eyes widening as he tried to move only to realize he was completely tied down. He attempted to pull his arms free of the restraints to no avail. I continued to squeeze tighter and tighter until I was squeezing as hard as I possibly could. He tried to let out a scream as he endured what had to be incredibly painful. All that came out was a muffled grunt. I stared into his eye as they teared up with a face of sheer terror. It was the first time in years I stared him in the eyes. What I once saw as the terrifying eyes of an evil and soulless monster now looked like a pathetic helpless coward; it was a much more suitable look in my opinion. As I continued to squeeze with all my might I leaned over so that my face was directly above his, and with a newfound sense of confidence, I whispered to him, “I’m in control now.”

He became quieter and struggled less but I could still see the pain and fear in his eyes. I reached my free hand behind my back and pulled the tool from the waist of my pants.  The tool I had brought with me to execute my revenge and take back control. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated as he saw the glistening shine of the chef’s knife I held over him.

I lowered it down to the center of his neck and slid it down to the center of his chest. I released my grip from him so I could hold the knife with both hands. I pushed it in just far enough to ensure that he would feel every bit of it as I twisted it back and forth. I taunted him as I cut into him telling him what a disgusting pig he was and how he would never touch or hurt me ever again.

After a few minutes, I got off the bed and glanced down at his black and blue sack, I raised the knife in both hands as I spoke “you’ll never be able to hurt anyone with this again.” And with all my strength, I brought the knife down into his now mangled sack. He let out the shrillest scream I had ever heard, even with the duct tape still covering his mouth. I continued to stab and twist with all my weight in the same spot until I was completely satisfied. When I stood back up I realised that tears were running down my cheeks. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I was lost in the moment and was seduced by every second. I raised the knife for the final blow. As I stared him in his helpless eyes I pressed the knife down into his throat. His body shook sporadically before coming to a complete stop as I saw the life drain out of his now dead eyes.

I left his room and took a shower to wash his blood off of me and the knife which I now considered to be the most sentimental thing I owned. I had a strange feeling building in me. It was as if I could breathe for the first time and everything seemed brighter. I felt free, for the first time in my life, I had nothing to fear and tomorrow was a fresh start down the path to my new future.

I met up with Diana bright and early that morning at her house; she was not as cheerful as I was. She was having a hard time leaving her mother and saying her goodbyes. Her mother had always treated her lovingly so leaving her and everything else behind tore at her heart; as opposed to me who was running away from all the horrors of my life. Once we left her house, Diana had to fight back the tears but got misty eyed all the same. Her emotions were running wild.

Smack Jack was waiting for us when we got to our meeting spot. Diane and I were almost an hour early yet Smack Jack seemed to be acting impatient as if we were late and had been keeping him waiting. We left immediately, without so much as a hello or how are you. It was a long and quite drive, neither Diana nor I knew where we were going and it was making Diana extremely nervous. I spent most of the entire three hour drive sitting in silence beside Diana. We held each other's hands as I tried to comfort her, of course my inner thoughts were flooded with thoughts of my father and his final moments.

We came to a stop in an empty parking lot. Smack Jack told us to grab our things and follow him. We had an additional ten minute walk until we arrived at our destination. It was a small run-down white house with green shutters. Vines were growing up the side of the house and over the roof. The windows were covered in bits of barn board and cardboard so you couldn’t see inside the house. It seemed like a wasted effort through since you could barely see inside anyway with all the dirt and dust that covered the windows. Mud covered footprints covered the walkway leading to the front door. We followed Smack Jack to the door and waited for someone to answer. There had been a lot of ruckus coming from inside the house as soon as he had rang the doorbell; we could hear people shouting and running around. When the door finally opened there was a big man who had a resemblance to Smack Jack. He had black hair and a small mustache. He didn’t seem too surprised to see us. He stepped aside allowing us to enter the house. Once we were all in he shut the door behind us and turned to face us. “So what brings ole Joey back to town?”

Diana and I looked at each other as neither of us had ever heard him called Joey before. We always knew that Smack Jack wasn’t his real name. Still, to hear his real name spoken seemed weird, I didn’t know what I had expected his name to be, I just knew I hadn’t expected it to be Joey. Diana spoke for the first time since we left the van and asked where the name Smack Jack came from and why he didn’t use his real name. The other man let out a loud laugh and before answering her he turned towards Joey.

“You’re not still going by that are you?”

Joey just smirked back at him. Both Joey and the other man started to walk away from the doorway so Diana and I just followed them walking shoulder to shoulder. The new fellow told us the story of how Joey got the name Smack Jack after getting arrested at their old High School for doing smack in the bathroom. He continued talking as we made our way down to the basement where we met a few more people. There were two couches facing each other in the center of the room with a small coffee table in between them. Everyone was sitting around with empty beer and liquor bottles laying all about along with the remnants of a lot of fast food.

The new guy began to introduce us to everyone in the room. There was Devin, he was tall with dark skin and had a small moustache similar to the guy who was doing the introductions. He also seemed like the oldest one of the group. Then there was Casey, she was covered in tattoos and wore a whole lot of makeup. She was wearing a pink mini-skirt with a pink shirt that was barely covering her breasts. Her hair was long, orange and dirty looking. She actually looked like it had been a long time since any part of her had been near a shower.

Next I met Mark; he was completely bald just like Joey. He was wearing bright, flashy clothing;  he looked like a pasty  white boy trying way too hard to look like a black gangster. After the introductions were completed our host finally introduced himself as Joey’s older brother Harry. Joey was the one who introduced us to the group in the room, Diana and I just stood there all shy and awkward. We ended up sitting down and joining the others as they continued to drink and do drugs for the rest of the day. Diana and I found ourselves loosening up as we got more comfortable and talkative.

Diana and I were just doing our usual L.S.D. since it was the drug we knew and liked. Everyone else was shooting up heroin and trying their hardest to persuade us to try it. They did a good job making it sound appealing, yet neither Diana nor I had been comfortable enough to try it for the first time in the new surroundings we were in. We were just getting used to these people and this house. One by one, everyone made their way upstairs to the bedrooms to sleep. They hadn’t seemed surprised to see Joey, or us, although they claimed they didn’t know that any of us were coming. They let us know we were more than welcome to stay the night if we were willing to sleep on the couch due to the lack of beds. Apparently, Joey always had a spare room in this house so it left Diana and I alone in the basement to sleep.

Over the next few days Diana and I spent the majority of our time in the basement. The others seemed rather busy as they were coming and going all day long. They were talking to what sounded like a client of theirs. A week of everyone being busy doing what they do to make money, led to them having people over for a party. It was just another wave of new strangers for Diana and I. We made ourselves comfortable on one couch as we shared a bottle of vodka. It had been shortly after the people arrived that a tall man in a suit, with a sizable gut, sat down beside Diana. He did everything in his power to talk to her. He seemed to get frustrated with Diana’s shyness as he wanted her to have a conversation with him. He eventually gave up and left the couch to talk with Devin and Harry. They kept glancing back towards us as they talked until Harry eventually came over to us and told us to get up and socialize and try to enjoy the party. He practically pulled us off the couch and over toward Casey who seemed to be quite drunk.

Casey continued to ramble on about random topics, switching topics mid-way through each subject. She seemed to go on for hours; I stopped paying attention to whatever she was saying. When I looked around I realized that Diana was no longer beside me. When I turned around to see where she had gone I saw Devin leading Diana and the big man in the suit outside. I immediately left Casey and on the verge of panic, I ran after Diana. Once I got close to the door Devin pulled me aside and tried to make it seem like he wanted to talk with me, I knew he was just trying to keep me inside. I didn’t want Diana to be alone with that weird guy. I kept trying to get outside to check on her but Devin was relentless and refused to let me go outside. Eventually morning came and Diana becomes yet another person who had come and gone from my life without me knowing why.

I cried and begged for the others to tell me what happened to her. I pleaded with them to bring her back. They flat out refused to answer me. The worst part was how little they seemed to care. They treated me like a little child who had just lost a toy. No matter how much I tried to force it out of them, they refused to even admit she had ever existed. After that, I tried to spend as little time as possible with those people.

One day when I was alone in the house, I went upstairs and started to snoop through the bedrooms to see if I could find any clues as to what might have happened to Diana. I was looking through Devin’s closet when I found a small locket in the corner, it was dirty and seemed like it had been there for years. I picked it up and opened it; it had a picture of a girl in it that couldn’t have been older than twenty one. She had long blond hair and green eyes. It startled me a bit how similar we looked to one another. She was like a more beautiful version of me. For whatever reason I got a warm and comforting feeling inside.  I decided to keep it for myself so that whenever I would feel lost or lonely I could just look at it for a few moments for inspiration. I believe the locket and the feelings I got from it helped me through a lot of the loneliness I felt and through the rougher times that were yet to come.

That evening as I was watched the television by myself, I skipped through the channels until I noticed a house that seemed like the one I lived in with my father. I turned the television back to that channel only to discover that it was in fact my old house. It had been a news broadcast that was talking about my murdered father. I instantly felt my heart begin to pound faster; I pulled out my new locket and squeezed it tightly. The news report went on to say the daughter that had lived in the home was suspected to have been kidnapped. I let out a sigh of relief and instantly felt my heart slow down. I didn’t get to watch much more of that news report as it was interrupted by a current news story. They were showing footage of a wall being torn down. I quickly lost interest, turned the television off and drifted to sleep with nightmares of the final night I had spent with my father.

The next day Harry was making it quite clear that he didn’t like me free loading off of them and he would be expecting something in return. I offered to help with the drug dealing like I used to do for Joey. Harry didn’t seem interested in bringing me into the business and said that he had something else in mine. He let me know that he expected me to get into Casey’s trade. Up until that moment I didn’t think Casey did anything, I thought she had been a free loader just like me. Only that she was a slut who would sleep with anyone.

It wasn’t until Harry was walking me up the stairs that I realized what trade she was in. They expected me to do the same things and Harry planned on being my first client. He let me know in no uncertain terms that I didn’t have a choice in the matter as it was either this, or I was out. I was still high on L.S.D. from earlier and it was probably wearing off but I needed it to last a little longer. It needed to help me through this like it used to when I was younger and being taken advantage of by my father.

He sat me down and kissed the side of my neck as he touched me and started to take my clothes off. It felt all too familiar as it brought back all the horror of the days with my father. I pulled the locket out of my pants and hid it in my closed fist. I was hoping it would provide me with some source of comfort. Harry hadn’t been too rough, at least not at the start. He slowly became more aggressive but there was still no comparison to the torturous ordeal I had endured with my father.

As the drugs slowly wore off, the sex became increasingly violent. He slammed into me like wild animal, over and over again. I squeezed my locket so hard that it cut into my hand. With a final brutal thrust it all came to an end. Afterwards, Harry left me alone in his room. I opened the locket and stared at the girl in the picture. Just looking at the picture of this girl gave me the comfort I so desperately needed.I wondered who she could be and what her life might have been like. I had hoped that she had lived a happy and fulfilled life; deep down I knew that was very unlikely if she had been anywhere near this house or its occupants for any length of time.

As time went on they all started to have their way with me as well as handing me off clients. It would be a rare treat to actually be given any money. I stopped even asking for it since it just wasn’t worth the hassle. Eventually I resorted to heroin to help me deal with this new lifestyle.  It had been helpful when I first started to use it. It would take me away from everything and almost make me feel like I was a different person entirely.

I had become calm and relaxed without I hadn’t a care in the world. Unfortunately, like all drugs, it became a bigger reminder of everything that was wrong in my life.  I tried to go back to L.S.D. only to have the most horrific hallucinations. One of the hallucinations that I remember quite vividly had me back at Mrs. Madison’s daycare. I would try everything in my power to avoid hurting Mika. I would run in the opposite direction, only to find myself back in his nursery. I would be standing over of him surrounded by demons.

As time went on, my skin became dry and rigid; my arms became skinny to the point that you could see the outline of my bones. The only part of me that had any fat on it at all was my stomach. I had somehow managed to get a small pot belly. It had been pretty round and smooth. At the time, I didn’t understand how I could possibly have any fat on me since I had been so ill lately. Every morning I would wake up sick to my stomach. I would soon become so overwhelmed with nausea that I would vomit. Every time I looked at my gut I would be reminded of all the mistakes I had made in my life. What I had done to Mika was the biggest mistake of them all. As my stomach grew, so did my guilt and disgust for myself. It got to the point that I could see Mika’s face in my belly whenever I looked at it. I couldn’t handle it, it was all too much I knew I had to end it before it got too far along.

Now I have it all in writing. My poor excuse of a life that I’ve wasted. I know this will be found along with my lifeless body in this cold, wet, alleyway. I can no longer live and let this horrible cycle repeat itself. It can’t happen, I won’t let it happen!  With all my confessions now wrote out, I will do what needs to be done. I have my pills in my pocket and will swallow them after finishing this letter and taking a final look at the picture in the locket. It’s kind of ironic how I will be leaving this world in the same fashion as my mother. I never imagined we would end up the same way. That thought alone makes me certain that this is the right thing to do.

Sorry, Goodbye,

Anne Mallory


© Copyright 2018 Carl Bluesy . All rights reserved.

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