My name is Lola

I decided to write this after being inspired by something I read a couple of days back. Don't forget to review after reading.

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My name is Lola. I am but three.
My eyes are swollen and I cannot see.
I must be stupid, I must have been bad, because
What else could have made my Daddy so mad?
I wish I was better, I wish I was well.
Then maybe my Mummy would love me again.
I am not allowed to speak. I am not allowed to make sound.
Otherwise I am left outside all alone with no one else around.

As I make my way to school, people stop and stare.
I lower my head and run all the way there.
My teacher ask ‘Honey, what happened?’
But I cannot tell her the truth or else Daddy will hit me again.

I sleep in the attic. I sleep all alone.
At night I freeze because of the cold.

One day I woke to find the house bare.
My Mummy and Daddy went out somewhere.
I went down to the kitchen to find some food.
All I could find was yesterdays stew.
I took out a bowl when I heard the front door..

‘Oh no, my parents are home’

My heart started beating and my palms began to sweat.
All I could hear was my blood rushing cold.

I panicked out loud and dropped the bowl.
My parents must have heard as they neared the door.

I hid behind a corner and prayed for my fate ahead.
How could I escape the horror which yet waits?

My Daddy screamed as he saw the mess on the floor.
He swore he shouted he screamed he yelled...
Making me jump and cry out for help.

He heard my cry and turned the corner, to
Find me weeping on the floor, I’m a goner.

He grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet.
He pushed me against the wall, grabbing a knife, he
threatened me with words.

I am so afraid I cannot explain.

I try to get away but he held me down more.
I saw my Mummy at the door.
I called for her but she ignored.
My daddy slapped me across my face.
He told me he wished I was never born.

His words were harsh cruel and unkind.
Nothing I do could make him proud.
‘I’m sorry!’ I screamed but it meant nothing to him as his face turned beyond hate.

I screamed again as he plunged the knife in me.
Again and again until I was swimming in my own pool blood.

My ears were ringing with my fathers last words ‘You were never my child’
It hurt, but all I could hear was those last words.

He forced the knife in me over and over,
Ignoring my plea ‘I am sorry, Daddy stop!’

And then he stops and walks over,
To the sink to wash himself of me.
As I lay there on the floor,
Motionless sprawled across the floor.

My name is Lola. I am but three.
Tonight was the night my Daddy murdered me.