Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Just a glimpse into what should have been a simple life, turned upside down.

Submitted:Jan 12, 2008    Reads: 135    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   

It is September 21st, and I'm in the 6th grade.
All Summer, i'd spent my days with a girl named Brittany, a little younger than me but in the same grade, and her brother, quite older. Even today, I still think part of this day was my fault, even though everybody tells me it wasn't. It's their job to tell me it's going to be fine, it was all just a bad dream, even though I know that simply isn't true. It haunts me even to this day, and possibly might be one reason I'm a lesbian. I don't know, and never will.
Anyway, September 21st.
4:00 in the afternoon, I've taken the bus home to Brittany's, because we've got a play date. My little ponies with their multicolored hair, pink, purple and blue was Brittany's, and green, pink and electric blue was mine. I named him Static (yes, my little pony was a male, and if he were real, would probably be the worst cliche of a gay-pony the world has ever seen). Her's was named Rainbow (creative, isn't she?), and of course they were best friends before we made them boyfriend and girlfriend like all young girls like us do. The floor is covered in this horrible gold shagg carpet, and somewhere there's that gross fake-cheese stuff that's in microwave mcacarroni and cheese.
Now, this is all childs play, literally. You must be wondering where I'm going with this. You'll have to wait a little longer to see.
Now, to keep her brother from possibly knowing this is about him, and to protect myself, I am going to call him Michael. This is not his name, I swear, and I'm not going to tell anybody what his real name was.
After we decided that my littlest pony wasn't fun anymore, her mom announced it was time for dinner. I'd be going home shortly after dinner. Brittany decided she wanted this stupid little chicken thing with cheese inside it, which would later become known as cordon bleu. To this day, I still can't eat it. It makes me sick. Seeing as they didn't have any, and seeing as Brittany was known for fits worse than a tornado, her mother and her went to the market, and left Michael in charge of watching me while they went to the grocery store. Now, he was in, oh.. 8th grade, I believe. Old enough to know better.
After watching him play video games for 1.4 seconds I was bored enough to beg him to play a game with me. Any game. And when I say begging, I mean begging. He loved his video games like they were his children. Finally, he decided on a game. We'll just call it "you show me, i'll show you", even though he probably knew all about it. This is where it begins to get hard to write.
I showed him mine, and he showed me his. Well, that was boring. Oh, and hard to write, right? Wrong. That wasn't hard.
It went beyond that little game, and resulted in both a three month section of sexual abuse, but also resulted in my rape. One night, Brittany and I had a sleep over, and when her mom found me crying in the bathroom, she asked me what was wrong, and I said I was bleeding, and that my stomach hurt. She assumed my menstral cycle had started, when it hadn't, so she sent me home, to my mother who assumed the same, because I wasn't about to say anything. He threatened to kill me, which I believed at the time, and sometimes still do.
Four months later, I'd lost 30 pounds in weight, and my mother was worried. I'd started "Life Skills" classes now, and found out what had happened, and even though I was told over and over that no matter what it was never my fault, I found myself crawling to my mother in the middle of the night, crying and wailing "I didn't mean to!" Over, and over, and over again. Charges couldn't be pressed at this point, due to the time that had passed, and that there was no physical proof. Occasionally, I'll see him in the hallway at my high school, and when I walk by, he'll whisper "Lark hill." In my ear. It's now something that empowers me, because I survived. It makes me sad, because Lark Hill was once a beautiful place for me and my friends to play at, but even though his words don't hurt anymore, I still can't go back to play there, or go anywhere near the house.


| Email this story Email this Short story | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.