Broken Angel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is an old story, written a long time ago, about child abuse.

Submitted: March 23, 2007

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Submitted: March 23, 2007




My name is Sabastion. As I tell you this story, I lay hidden in the corner of a closet, on a cold hardwood floor. I have a blanket, but I can’t see where it is in the dark and if I could see it, I can’t reach it. I haven’t done anything wrong, yet I have been discarded and tossed in here like yesterday’s garbage. Forgotten for the time being, until I’m needed by someone to yank my arms and throw me across a room. I don’t feel physical pain; I guess that’s a blessing because my best friend does.

I only have one friend, but she is a true friend so one is all I needed. But sadly, she is in a great deal of pain most of the time. I don’t think these people who call themselves “Mom” and “Dad” like her very much. They are always yelling and calling her very nasty names. Even though they tell her she is stupid all the time, I know she is very smart. Sometimes she reads stories to me, some of the stories I know she is just making up on her own. We dream together; of living in grand castles across huge oceans. Places where we are both loved by everyone in lands of beautiful colours filled with the most wondrous flowers. Sometimes we sail oceans and slay sea monsters to save islands of people from pain and devastation. And sometimes we get the best of the villains and make them pay for the terrible things they have done to other people.

Most times, those villains are ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’, we both know it, but we don’t dare say it out loud. If they heard us, my friend would pay the price and then I wouldn’t be able to see her for days at a time. She wouldn’t be allowed to play or tell stories. She would have all kinds of funny colors on her face and arms, and be too sick to see me.

I don’t know why ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ are so mean to her. She always does her chores. She doesn’t go away from home to school. Like me, she stays home. But her schoolwork is always done. Sometimes I get to help her with it. Of course her favourite part is when she gets to write stories. And she really doesn’t like math much, but she is better at it than I am. Heck, she’s better at everything than I am.

One day, she had to fix my arm, because it was broken. I think she could be a great doctor, she fixed it up, put such a huge bandage on it that we both laughed, because I looked like a mummy that I had seen in one of her books. That day, we told stories of grand ladies going to have tea where all the most famous people ate. Of course she was the grandest of all. Even the queen had to say so. We both wore funny floppy hats and danced with royals at fancy balls. She made me forget my broken arm and we just laughed together.

Sometimes, there are no hats, no fancy balls, and no laughing. Sometimes my friend only wants to hold me tight to her and cry, and that’s ok, I can do that for her too. Those times she is in a lot of pain. Lately, those times are happening more often. She is getting hurt worse lately too. And one day last week, she was bleeding really badly. When she was done crying, we had to bandage her up to look like a mummy just to stop the bleeding. I guess it didn’t work very well, because the bandages had to be changed a lot before it finally did stop. She said it was ‘Mom’ that did it, because she hadn’t swept the kitchen floor good enough.

One time, I thought she had a terrible disease, because there were all these little round red circles all over her arms. She told me they weren’t a disease, they were cigar burns. ‘Dad’ had put them there as punishment for burning the toast at breakfast, and forgetting one garbage can that had to go out to the road. We played pirates on the sea that day. Cannons fired at each other’s ships, burning up the sails and sinking the great treasures to the bottom of the ocean.

Last night, something terrible happened. ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ were yelling there was a lot of screaming and then she was thrown into her room. I tried to comfort her, but she wouldn’t talk, she wasn’t even crying. She was just lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. I lay with her for a while and tried to figure out what was so interesting in the ceiling. There must be a story up there that she was just not ready to tell me.

After a while, I was getting wet. There was so much blood it was covering the floor and getting on me too. Before I could tell her that we needed the bandages, I was picked up and thrown in here. My name is Sabastion, I am alone now as my best friend died last night. And I couldn’t do anything to help her. I am nothing more than her teddy bear. I can’t reach my blanket, because my arms were ripped off and I think they are still in her room. Still lying in her blood. I wish I could tell someone about her. Maybe she would still be alive now if someone else had known. I miss my best friend. But now she has no pain.

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