Execution

I barely remember Mommy’s face. Only that she had the biggest, greenest eyes I had ever seen! She was so beautiful. The only way I can see her now is through a glass window, with a hospital gown on. Her face so different from when I knew her. Her face went from a creamy peaches and cream complexion to a white dead looking face. Her hair now looked like it hadn’t been washed or combed in months.  And her eyes, the eyes that I loved so much had become some grayish color. How I missed my mommy, I almost felt as if my real mom had died and left a weak imitation of her.

The day my mom was taken to that mental clinic was the day she died, in my little world. The day I became the wife and she became the lost and forgotten child. I was only eight and I didn’t fully understand why my mom was taken away and my father wasn’t that willing to explain either. All I knew was that she had done something she wasn’t supposed to do.

Are you afraid to die? A voice inside of me would ask. Somber words whispered in my ears day in and day out. Yet I answered to this voice, I’m not scared of dying. It was almost like I was born on an execution stand anyway. If not. I was born as my mom awaited execution. I’ve been standing for her there, ever since. All the execution tools were all around me. As I grew I started I began to notice them, the traps everywhere.

My dad said he always saw me as his daughter, at least until my mom was taken away. From then on he saw I was an exact replica of my mother image. I looked just like she did when she was my age; well that’s what I was told. I thought I looked more like her when she was in the mental hospital then when she was in our house.

Her new eyes looked like mine wild, confused, and cold. I got told so much that we looked alike I no longer saw myself in the mirror only the dim memory I had of her. I think that’s what my father started to have sex with me. I started to dress like my mom and act like her so I could take the part. Not that I wanted what my father was giving me but if I didn’t I was going to end up faulted. Only way to keep myself sane. Otherwise I don’t think I would have lasted that as long as I did. I cooked, I cleaned, and I served his other needs.

It all started with kisses, then touches after touches, and when I turned twelve my father started to have sex with me. When the lights went out it wasn’t my father anymore, he was my executioner. He was the one that was setting up all the traps and by having sex with him I was falling right into the traps. What could I do, I had no other option!