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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
What would you do if you and your sister were raped and physically abused by your father..after your mother died..its a story about it..

Submitted: February 28, 2013

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Submitted: February 28, 2013




When I was raped by my father, I lost my mind and one night when he lay asleep, I took a butcher knife and stabbed him repeatedly. There was so much rage, so much hurt and so much pain, that did not think twice. Ever since mother had died, he turned to physically and sexually abusing me and my younger sister. I was thirteen when he first molested me and then raped me repeatedly. There was too much shame, too much hurt to speak out. But one day I caught him trying to rape my younger sister. And I had intervened telling him to be ashamed of what he was doing. He had pulled me into the room by my hair and he tore my skirt and then he had took off his belt and he whipped me hard, so hard that I had welts on my back.


He then dragged me to a cellar in the basement where I was locked in. There were no windows to look out and there was none to hear my screams for miles around as we were living in the country. For three days, I was only fed pieces of bread and water. There was no washroom to go so I had to defecate and piss in the same room. I tried to sleep but the trauma of being raped so many times and that too by own father gave my heart and mind no rest. What sort of father would stoop to so low a thing as to have sex with his own daughter. My respect for him ebbed and then turned to intense hate. I feared that my eleven year old younger sister, Mary was now at his mercy. He was likely going to rape her again and again; that son of a bitch was going to pay and I had made my mind up.



Whilst I was locked in the cellar, I heard my younger sister scream and moan and there was no one to save her. I prayed to God for help during my very first night of imprisonment in the cellar. It was a bare cellar. Except for a small wooden table and boxes of turpentine, there was nothing there. At night, the sole light that I used was a bulb hanging low from a long wire. And at night my soul companions were mice that scampered forth here and there. My back was covered with wounds caused by fathers whipping.


A year after my mother passed away due to cancer, my father commenced raping me. I remember him calling me into the room. He had for some reason locked the room. It did not seem odd at the moment. He had called me to him. And I had layed by his side. He had kissed me on my lips and on my cheeks. And then he had taken my clothes off. I found him lying bare on the bed. And I was embarrased to see him naked. I was even more embarrassed and ashamed to be naked in front of him. He had given me a glass of coca cola which had a strange taste to it. And I had felt strangely woozy for some reason. He had then taken me into his arms and sucked on my breasts. I felt helpless in his arms. And when his mouth touched my vagina, I felt giddy and I enjoyed the pleasant sensation. However he then pressed his penis into my small vagina and the pain had been intense and I had screamed out in pain begging him to let go but he had not. And then the pain disappeared as he entered me again and again. When the sex was over, I had gone back to my room feeling robbed of my dignity and my self esteem

was down. I could not understand why he had done what he had and I knew not what to do. That night I cried a lot and hoped that it never happened again but my dad had turned into a beast and every second night he would have sex with me. I had tried resisting him but that had angered him a lot and he then resorted to severe physical abuse.


Now I was locked up in the cellar knowing little about my fate and future. It was on the second day perhaps in the morning that he came to visit me.


I raped your little sister” he said his face pulled up in a sneer “ and she loved every moment of it”.


Deep inside of me, I wished him to be dead. However that was not to be. I judged that it would be better to comply with his demands now so that I could come out of the cellar.


He stared at me. I could tell that he had been drinking again. He was addicted to alcohol His speech was slightly slurred as he said “ If you remain, a good girl, I will let you out otherwise youre gonna be locked in here for a long time”.


I had asked about where younger sister was and he had let out a horrible little laugh as he left.


It was on the third day, that I was eventually let out by my father. I was glad that I was finally out and so I went looking for my younger sister but she was nowhere to be found. I looked every where but there was no sign. What had happened to her? Where was she? Was she alright? These were the questions going through my mind.


Whilst I was looking in my bedroom, I hear a little child sobbing and whimpering. When I opened the bed room closet, I found my little sister sobbing, trembling and shaking. There were bruises under her eyes and on her legs as if someone had beaten her up. She hugged me tight for a long time. I was furious. I had had enough of my dad.


I went to the kitchen and I got my hands onto a sharp knife that lay there. Stealthily I had my way into his room. He was taking his evening nap and that had been just as well. I had taken the knife and stabbed him many a time in his chest, in his stomach and finally I has slit his throat. He lay dead, the bed sheet full of blood flowing out of his body.


Then I had called the police and confessed to murdering my father and I had gave them the reason why. It was proved beyond a doubt that he had raped me and my sister. Both I and my sister were recommended psychiatriatric care and therapy. For murdering my father, I was sentenced to four years behind bars in juvenile prison. During that time, my younger sister was handed to a local orphanage.


She did come to visit me with a guardian once or twice. And I just pray that things turn for the better once I am released.


However I can never forget the mental torture and physical abuse meted out to us by our own father.




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