@Samantha-Lake
Who? part 2 I’m lazily sitting under a tree next to a stream. Someone is on the bank but I’m too groggy to make out the person. They are small, with bright hair and maybe it’s a sundress. I’m not sure. The person speaks “Mom, come look at this!” her voice is tiny and fragile but full of joy. I’m a mother. I stand up and stumble on my way. Why can I never seem to get my bearings? I lumber over to the child; my child. Her face is now unblurred. Her eyes stare at me longingly, “Mom look at this toad! It’s so speckly and beautiful. Can I keep him?” “Of course, honey.” I try to reply but the words come out like a slurred haze. I can’t speak correctly. Nodding seems to be something I can do. So, I nod in the affirmative. My vision starts to clear completely. This is a park in my city. The girl is cherub-like. Big round blue eyes and a mop of red hair blowing behind her as she is inspecting her new prized pet. She sets the toad down and begins to follow its every hop. “Jenny, don’t get too far!” The words found their way out of my mouth, but I didn’t even will them. What is this? Her name is Jenny, and she’s my daughter. “I won’t. I bet this toad could win any height jumping competition. He’s amazing!” she continues to follow him for a while longer while I stand and watch over. The sounds of the creak begin to take over my mind. I decided to resume my spot under the tree. A book and a drink are there waiting for me. This is the perfect day. My eyes close as I long to stay in this moment forever. The stream and the wind begin to fill my senses. The wind carries the sound of jenny’s laughter back to me. “This is perfect,” I say to myself as I am once again pulled back into the black of my mind. ------------------------------------------------------------------ “What do you mean she’s pregnant!” the anger in the voice coils its way around the blackness in my mind. “That little whore! She’s 16 and already making her rounds in town!” A door slams and feet pound closer and closer to me. I open my eyes and see the darkness of a room. Sounds rattle through the floorboards and into this room. The still shadows of the room are disrupted by the penetration of light from an opening doorway. In walks, a burly man walks through the light and into the dark. “No daughter of mine is going to be a whore.” he begins punching me. Every hit is stinging, and I cry out for him to stop, but to no avail. I am in agony. My body lands on the cool surface of the floor. I relish in the cold until a heavy boot connects with my gut. The air is forcefully knocked from my body and my bones start to give way as more hits collide with me. This man is my father. Why is he hurting me? Am I pregnant? Instantly I begin to protect my gut; protect my child. I curl and allow the hits to land on my legs, head, and sides. I must protect my child. Blood pours out of my nose and from my eye. I am bruised, bloody, and beaten. Then like it all began, I am again in darkness. On the cold floor, I close my eyes and will my body to relax. I rest. Boot steps closer and closer. “You fucking slut!” the boot cracks into my nose. My peace is shattered. Defensively I cover my stomach again. “Please, stop! Help me!” the words don’t make it off my lips before another devastating blow to my ribs. My inhales are sharp and painful. Roll over so my stomach is on the floor and I cover my head with my hands. The door slams open. “Look at me, Will!” The barrage of hits ends, and I pear out from under my arms. He is turning. The second his body is fully turned a loud gunshot fills the silence. His body goes limp and hits the floor. His chest rises and falls a final time. The light in his eyes dulls. Peace overwhelms my body. A woman, my mother, is holding a gun. Her bright red hair is messy on her head and a look of anger starts to fade from her porcelain face. She starts crying and falls to the floor. slowly she begins to crawl toward me. Her body folds around mine and I release every bit of tension in my body. Tears and blood started streaming from my face onto the cold of the wooden floor. We sob and sob until the cops come in and remove us. I’m placed in the back of an ambulance and my mom into the back of a cop car. Her hands are cuffed but she’s no longer angry or crying. Her face shows pride and peace with what happened. The doors to the ambulance close and my body goes slack. Once again, a cataclysm of shadows overtakes my mind. Who is going to help me? Who am I? Author: Samantha Lake
