When I was younger, my mama and papa would tell me stories of beasts, princes, and princesses. Of towering castles, and deep dark forests. The tales always accompanied by crudely made sock puppets and terrible voice acting.
I missed those days. I’m not entirely sure when or why they stopped. Just one day papa stopped being part of story time. He would leave for hours on end at night, and come home in the early light of day, smelling like smoke and something else. He would sit on the side of my bed, brushing my hair back and whispering how much he loved me. But soon, those moments stopped too. Papa would be gone for hours, days, then weeks. Coming back stained, bloody, and smelling like the boys change room. Finally, he stopped coming back altogether.
Slowly, my mama, who had always tried to keep up with the magical stories, started to pull back too. She went from being the picture of health and beauty, to some kind of chapped lip, skin, and bone creature. The sores on her face slowly getting worse as time went on.
By this time the only friends I had were the voices coming from my closet and from under my bed. Telling me stories in their own little ways.
I was about ten when I realized something was wrong. Mama stared at the ceiling with glass eyes, I shook and shook her but she just didn’t see me. She didn’t move. She just laid there. By 13 I mastered the art of making a sandwich out of the random things I could find in our small one bedroom apartment.
By 16…well that’s when the worse started to happen. I could handle being called a slut, whore, bitch, and cunt. I could handle the slaps and pulling of my hair, the sting of her belt when it landed on my back. But I couldn’t handle this.
“Sweetie we talked about this” my mama told me, attempting a gentle smile but all I saw were yellowed, broken teeth. “Thomas…Thomas is just going to bring you upstairs. He’s going to…well. You’re just going to let him do what he wants okay?” Her voice came out shaky, her long, boney fingers picking at her face. Her once beautiful blonde hair now balding in some patches.
“Mama I don’t want to do this” I said, my entire body felt on edge as the man looked at me. From behind his thick glasses I could see his yellowing eyes looking me up and down.
My mom grabbed my arm, hard. I gasped from the pain that exploded up my arm. Another bruise for my collection. “Listen you little slut. You’re going to go upstairs and get ready for Thomas!” She pulled me half way up the stairs, pushing me the other half. My knees took the brunt of the fall as I scrambled back up. I ran to the one bedroom we had, the dingy second hand mattress on the old iron bed frame staring at me. Knowing why this was happening. Seeing it so many times when I was younger.
Mama needed her fix. But she was no longer able to get it on her own.
I slumped down against the wooden door. Wrapping my arms around my knees. If papa hadn’t left I would be safe. Suddenly the shadows of my room danced across the floor. Filling the empty space with a large, monster like figure.
As footsteps came up the creaky stairs I cried. The shadow infront of me bending down, “don’t worry. The monsters are here to protect you from your parents. You have nothing to worry about.” The shadow caressed my hair like papa used to. An army joining behind it.
My mama tried the knob, finding it locked shut. She banged against the wood of the door. The thing rattling on its hinges. The man Thomas joining in. I ran to the other side of the room by the window. Every inch of light now snuffed out by the shadows. As the door sprang open with a bang, my mama and Thomas looked at me with wild eyes. But then there was darkness, a shadow blocking the scene in-front of me as wild screams of terror sounded.
BrooklynCat89 t1_iu2n0dv wrote
Reply to [WP] “Don’t worry. The monsters are here to protect you from your parents. You have nothing to worry about.” by Apprehensive_Age3663
When I was younger, my mama and papa would tell me stories of beasts, princes, and princesses. Of towering castles, and deep dark forests. The tales always accompanied by crudely made sock puppets and terrible voice acting.
I missed those days. I’m not entirely sure when or why they stopped. Just one day papa stopped being part of story time. He would leave for hours on end at night, and come home in the early light of day, smelling like smoke and something else. He would sit on the side of my bed, brushing my hair back and whispering how much he loved me. But soon, those moments stopped too. Papa would be gone for hours, days, then weeks. Coming back stained, bloody, and smelling like the boys change room. Finally, he stopped coming back altogether.
Slowly, my mama, who had always tried to keep up with the magical stories, started to pull back too. She went from being the picture of health and beauty, to some kind of chapped lip, skin, and bone creature. The sores on her face slowly getting worse as time went on.
By this time the only friends I had were the voices coming from my closet and from under my bed. Telling me stories in their own little ways.
I was about ten when I realized something was wrong. Mama stared at the ceiling with glass eyes, I shook and shook her but she just didn’t see me. She didn’t move. She just laid there. By 13 I mastered the art of making a sandwich out of the random things I could find in our small one bedroom apartment.
By 16…well that’s when the worse started to happen. I could handle being called a slut, whore, bitch, and cunt. I could handle the slaps and pulling of my hair, the sting of her belt when it landed on my back. But I couldn’t handle this.
“Sweetie we talked about this” my mama told me, attempting a gentle smile but all I saw were yellowed, broken teeth. “Thomas…Thomas is just going to bring you upstairs. He’s going to…well. You’re just going to let him do what he wants okay?” Her voice came out shaky, her long, boney fingers picking at her face. Her once beautiful blonde hair now balding in some patches.
“Mama I don’t want to do this” I said, my entire body felt on edge as the man looked at me. From behind his thick glasses I could see his yellowing eyes looking me up and down.
My mom grabbed my arm, hard. I gasped from the pain that exploded up my arm. Another bruise for my collection. “Listen you little slut. You’re going to go upstairs and get ready for Thomas!” She pulled me half way up the stairs, pushing me the other half. My knees took the brunt of the fall as I scrambled back up. I ran to the one bedroom we had, the dingy second hand mattress on the old iron bed frame staring at me. Knowing why this was happening. Seeing it so many times when I was younger.
Mama needed her fix. But she was no longer able to get it on her own.
I slumped down against the wooden door. Wrapping my arms around my knees. If papa hadn’t left I would be safe. Suddenly the shadows of my room danced across the floor. Filling the empty space with a large, monster like figure.
As footsteps came up the creaky stairs I cried. The shadow infront of me bending down, “don’t worry. The monsters are here to protect you from your parents. You have nothing to worry about.” The shadow caressed my hair like papa used to. An army joining behind it.
My mama tried the knob, finding it locked shut. She banged against the wood of the door. The thing rattling on its hinges. The man Thomas joining in. I ran to the other side of the room by the window. Every inch of light now snuffed out by the shadows. As the door sprang open with a bang, my mama and Thomas looked at me with wild eyes. But then there was darkness, a shadow blocking the scene in-front of me as wild screams of terror sounded.
I was finally safe.