Unwanted-short story

Reads: 383  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story of a little girl, who has a life she doesn't deserve.

Submitted: April 17, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 17, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

I sit up in my tree, everyday and every night. Most of the time I spend up there i'm either sleeping or singing. The house is off limits, and I'm not allowed out of the yard. We have a 10 feet high gate around our property, mom and dad say it's to keep me safe. But even though I'm only 9, I'm not dumb, I know it's so that I can't leave. Even if I wanted to.

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

I don't even remember how it all started. At school, I was three grades ahead of my age group. And not even half the weight as those that are two years younger. At school, I at least got lunch, a whole meal, which gave me strength throughout the day, but then when the teachers started asking me if something was wrong at home, or were wondering how my parents treated me, I went home and told mom and dad. After that, I never went to school again.

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

I've walked around, looking for someway to escape for hours. And I finally have an idea. Behind a line of bushes, the fence, or gate, is slightly loose where it should be driven into the ground. If I could just dig a tunnel under the fence and to my neighbors house I'll be free.

 

When mom and dad leave to go to work, after locking up the house, and the gate behind them, I climb down from my tree and instead of eating the stale piece of bread that was left on the front step for my breakfast, I run to the area where I set to work digging with my hands. The ground is soft in parts and hard in others, and soon my hands hurt. Not wanted to get discouraged I run over to the shed, where I've been whipped multiple times.

 

Not letting myself remember the last time I was whipped (which happened to be with a broken branch) I grasp the handle and pulled. Nothing happened. I twist the handle and pull even harder, and to my surprise, the door swung open easily.

 

I adjust to the darkness of the shed and then rummage around until I feel my hand brush against a spade, grabbing it gleefully, I run out shutting the door softly behind me. I take the spade to my hole I started and began to dig it deeper, wider.

 

In a few minutes I happily saw how big the hole had gotten and then angled it towards the other side of the fence. That's when the lady next door came out of the house, screaming at me to keep away from her house. She looked me up and down, and laughed, then proceeded to tell me I might as well be dead, for the good I do in life. And then after threatening to kill me herself if I dare dig a hole in her yard, she saunters into her house, not even glancing back.

 

I slump to the ground. Defeated. I cry, more tears than I ever have in my whole life. My only escape route- impossible. I end up crying myself to sleep. Depressed, sad, lonely, and unwanted.

 

Without realizing how much time went by I was surprised when I heard a car come up the drive. Scared I crawl to the end of the line of trees to glance out and see who it was. I thought I recognize the face, but I wasn't completely sure, so I get up from my hiding spot and slowly walk over. “Emily...” I hear a soft voice call “come quickly honey, come here”

 

My teacher. My second grade teacher. She came for me! She came to take me away! I run over to her crying hard, and smiling all the while.

 

“oh baby, are you okay? Look how skinny you are. Those bruises! Oh, we HAVE to get you out of there!” she says from the other side of the gate.

 

I tell her about my attempt to escape that morning and about the lady, who my teacher told me, obviously had no heart. Talking to her, I was happy again, I felt something I never felt before. I was content.

 

She was just starting to ask me when my parents will be back when we hear another car come up the drive, I freeze with fear, and my teacher looks nervous and also scared. But she puts on a brave front as my dad and mom get out of the car, my dad, with a gun in his hands and mom with her hands on her hips.

 

“what are you doing here?” dad growls fiercely

“well, I have been thinking about your daughter a lot lately, she always was my brightest pupil and I miss having her in class.”

“ I suggest you get off our property and never step foot around here again or i'll shot you.” he says angrily, obviously meaning it.

 

My teacher nods, and quickly retreats to her car, giving me a sympathetic glance just before she drives away, and as sad as I was to see her go, I didn't want her to get shot, so I didn't call out to her to stay like I wanted to.

 

When she was gone my parents turned on me. And It wasn't a broken branch they used to beat me with, but the spade they found by my hole, when the lady living by us came out screaming what happened, and threatening to call the cops next time it happens. They cut me, sliced me, I bled. I saw their hatred, saw their disgust, I am unwanted, the've proven that. I started to get light headed, I see them above me, the spade coming down, and then I see it drop. The gun. I lurch for it; blood going everywhere, some of my bones sticking out of my broken skin, and grab it before either one of them can get me away from it. They back away as I point it at them.

 

Still dizzy, I slowly stand up, I look at them and then look to where I see my teachers car followed by a dozen or so police cars coming back up the drive. When them come to a halt my teacher jumps out calling my name. The police follow. They all stop short when they see the gun in my hand, I slowly bring It to my head, and close my eyes. I want it all to end. I hear my teacher yelling at me not to do it, yelling at the police to stop me, yelling at my parents for everything they've done. And then yelling to me that she loved me. That was the last sentence I heard..... “I love you emily.”

 

…....maybe if I'd of know she was going to say it, maybe if I'd of known she loved me, that someone really cared, I wouldn't of done it, I wouldn't of pulled the trigger. But it's to late now, it's over.


© Copyright 2019 soccergirl. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply