Abuse

Her screams break the awkward tense silence. I stare down at my dinner and gradually it becomes a blurred mixture of colours because of my welling tears. I hear her pleas of mercy but I am too scared to look up, too scared of what I will see.

I try to slide off my chair and hide under the safety of the table but as I do I hear him turn around and erupt with anger. I suddenly get a burst of courage, which would be better described as stupidity, and charge at him kicking and screaming. I recognise my mistake as soon as I look into his merciless face.

I tense my body and prepare for the impact of his fists. It never comes. I do feel intense pressure on my skull though. My hair is desperately trying to pull free from its roots. His left hand is firmly clamped around my hair holding me a few inches above the ground and his right hand extends toward the bench top in search for an object. I turn my neck just in time to see my blue hairbrush approaching my face. I only just realise what has happened as I receive another sharp powerful blow to my face. Again and again I am struck.

The first thing I hear is her loud sobs that are jolting her body, the next thing I hear are the weak, almost silent cries of my brother. I open my eyes and see her face is a mosaic of colours, bluey grey bruises, crimson lines of blood, black mascara running down her pale face, and red swollen eyes.