The soul when dim and sorrowful knows no boundaries. Margaret, a girl of seven years old was the victim of a fire in red flames, bursting, looking for someone to burn.
The young dove, the joyful, the bright smiles, the free hugs; that was
Margaret. It was during a summer day, at twilight, after coming home from the
park that she found a monster, aroused and intoxicated. The sweet girl opened
the door to the house, kissed her grandmother on the cheek after sitting on her
lap and asked her how her day had gone by. Grandmother always had a blessed day.
She went to the kitchen a few minutes after to find her mother; her father was
sitting on a rocking chair. Mother was quiet, cooking something that smelled
delicious, but there was that familiar distance in the room that separated each
other’s affection. Father was…intoxicated. Margaret had been here so many times
before that she knew what was coming; she sighted heavily, and stepped into the
“Where have you been?” He asked rather loudly as he looked into her big brown eyes. He knew where she had been all along; he wanted to argue, to provoke her tenderness, her care of him. Her head tilted as she looked at him, eyes sparkling like
diamonds, holding a few tears back.
“I was at the park.” She replied, in a tone that could’ve almost been missed. She knew
that he knew, but If she wasn’t respectful towards him matters could get worse,
actions would be dreadful, but he was so out of the room, so into his own
world, that there was no judgment to go by…there were no boundaries. The fear
took over her body, she could feel it creeping over her as it sent morbid chills
through her spine, she shook, she looked at her mother, searching for her, but
she didn’t say anything, perhaps she was afraid to make it worse.
“Turn around!” He demanded. Margaret obeyed and tears flowed to a sea of cries where the night is grim and dark, and nothing is heard or seen, but splashes against a distant shore where the lighthouse no longer beams. His belt, quick and fierce submerged into her flesh, and she experienced the little deaths of slaves and servants and animals years before her birth. The belt ripped through, trembled her feeble knees, and tainted her heart forever. Grandma was holding mother, they were crying, yelling, begging for him to stop, but I can’t remember how or when did he pull back, or in what corner of his mind did he found some reason to pull away. Throughout those minutes of his glory she witnessed the utmost pain, the sound of a whip against a flesh, the sound of endless moans and tears to satisfy his hunger, rewarding him in pleasure and ever so regretful.