Stolen

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A memory shared by a woman, now older, of something terrible that happened in her life as a child.

Submitted: April 07, 2014

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Submitted: April 07, 2014

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Stolen

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the summer I was going into third grade.  I opened the door to the apartment in the projects I shared with my mother. There was a long hallway with a closet at the end and around the corner to the right, was our living room. I rounded the corner and there he sat, in this particular chair we had. He looked at me as my mother said "and this is my little girl". 

My life was okay until then. I could even say it was heaven compared the hell he created for me. I'm not saying what he did was right, hell no! But he only treated me the way my mother treated me; like I was nothing, like I didn't matter. If you saw a mother treat her daughter this way why not do unspeakable things to her, after all, she's a nothing.

He stole and sold my things too. The few toys or things I asked for I never got to have for more than a few days or even a few hours. The Christmas I was 8, when I cried over my brand new coat that went missing, they just stared at me, like I was nothing. I'd get over it, they said. 

I never did get over that coat being stolen from me but if that was all I lost maybe I'd be okay today. What he stole, my body, my soul, my childhood, I can never replace.

 


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