Days

April 8, 1986
The day I was born a war broke out. Not between countries, not between men. But between a man and a woman. They fought over a child neither one was old enough to take care of. Children spawn a child. The pain in both their eyes was blinding.
In the end the woman won the war much to the dismay of the man. He cursed both mother and child and left never to be seen again.
A mother's love is hard to break. But as she held me alone I knew a mother's heart was easy to break. Her tears fell upon my infant face and the tears may not always be seen, but they have been falling ever since.
My sacrificed mother stood alone in the world and I, a simple child, was the one who sacrificed her. She had no love, no education, no companion, and her lonliness clouded her judgement.
She worked hard at everything and left me behind with her mother so I would not be in the way. Or so some would think. She was ashamed and tortured by every sight of me.
My mother was seen as a sinner of great offense because I existed and a marriage did not. She was cursed again by all those who knew her.
When she came home with blood shot eyes she used them to glare at me. Se loved me with her broken heart but hated me for the life I gave her. A life of sitting in darkness as an outcast, a sinner, a lonely mother. She would have taken anyone to break her lonliness and she did.
July 9, 1988
In a pink wedding dress, obvioulsy not qualifying for white, my mother walked down the aisle towards a young man she hardly knew. But the smile on her face was more than enough to light up the room.
He was in his navy uniform and had to leave soon after the wedding. They had only a day, a night. That night my sister was conceived and we swiftly moved away where a navy base would allow for my new father to leave and return at will.
As my new father sailed my mother's belly swelled. A new child, a new sister. When she was born there was no war, no tears, no curses or resentment. I envied her. She was a jewel to my mother and I was the flaw.
Time passed, ships docked and sailed away. In the process my mother's belly swelled again. For nine months she was without a husband but still not as alone as she was with me there. A son was born. My mother and father could not be more happy with their accomplishment. And yet news of the man of the house no longer able to handle his job is no accomplishment.
We moved again where my "father" had grown up. Almost instantly, only a few months after the birth of my brother my mother swelled one last time. Of course she was tired just giving birth and now pregnant. She failed to fullfill her wifely duties. So my "father" looked elsewhere.
He did not travel far. In the state, the town, the house he found his prey.
? 1993
I had just turned seven. Sleeping in a shared room with my sister there was not much privacy. Btu she was a hard sleeper. I was in my bed, whether the top or bottom bunk I can not recall.
I curled in my bed looking at the sliver of light from the hall. My sister was scared of the dark. The sliver grew, the light crawled across the floor until it reached my eyes.
It was my father. I wasn't scared because I didn't think I had to be.
In moments he was at my side playing with my hair. His hand slowly caressed my tiny body moving down inch by inch.
Whatever happened while my eyes were closed I could not comprehend. He just smiled and told me not tell anyone or he would spank me. That is and will always be a serious threat to a seven year old.
My mom gave birth to a daughter. I stood as she held the new baby and kissed her forehead. My "father" did the same and stared at me smiling. My goal in life, my vow I made at seven years old, was to protect that baby and my other sister who only escaped by three feet. Shortly after the birth my "father" lost his job. We moved again, where my life began, into the only house that was a constant comfort. My mother's mother welcomed us with opened arms.
We ate together, we talked to each other, as a solid faimly. Underneath the smoke of a perfect family was the real horror.
In my room, every night, the monster would torture me with a simple touch. As the days went by he came more often. As I grew older it moved from touch of skin to grab of flesh.
We moved again down the street to a rundown apartment. People were shot, run over, arrested for drug posession. That was the world we lived in and it was safer then my own room.
When my "father's" job took off we moved again to a wooded area home again just down the street. By that time I was about eleven.
One night, boredom must have overwhelemd the monster for he played harder and enjoyed it even more. Waking up with my panties around my ankles not knowing what happened seemed more of a punishment than a spanking. So I spoke up, hoping the horror, the nightamre, would come to an end.
I'd like to say it was a happy ending. I'd like to say the nightmare ended. But I can't. No one believed me. I was an emotionally unstable eleven year old with a perverted imagination.
My mother didn't beleive me. She took his side. So the mother sins, the child suffers, and she still feels it necessary to take revenge.