In the midst of an abusive household and hatred, five-year old Michaela sought out a life of beauty and of hope. What she gets isn't exactly what she expects.
Mommy always said that good people ended up on top.
Dishes flew into the air and the fists of the male started going, aimed at the face of the woman who angered him by questioning their financial status.
She said that if someone is a good person, they would get all the good things in the world. Mommy said the bad people would pay by getting in jail. They would pay with their lives, even.
"Stop! You're hurting her, stop!"
I don't understand, then, why that never happens here.
"Shut up, you little brat!" The dark-haired man struck the brunette girl across the face with his palm and she collapsed onto the ground like a rock dropped from the height of the Empire State Building. The male didn't stop there, though, no. His foot connected with her ribs and her abdomen, likely to leave gaping bruises and broken bones. But, still, he did not think that to be enough. He picked the child up by the neck and flung her towards the couch and coffee table.
She missed the couch and landed between the coffee table and the cushioned surface, her head missing the table by inches.
Daddy sometimes goes on rampages. Mommy says that he just drinks a little too much. It's why he's so red in the face when they happen. He doesn't necessarily talk clearly either. It's hard to understand why he does the things he does and why he targets us.
"Stop! Stop, Don, don't hurt her anymore, please!"
The cries of the blonde woman crawled in one ear of the man and plunged out of the other. Don walked over to the little brunette girl lying on the floor, shaking, blood at the corner of her mouth.
But he doesn't have any other outlets.
The dark-haired man bent over and picked the child up by the neck again, discontinuing the oxygen going to her lungs. She choked and pulled at his fingers, but he didn't let go. Not until the mother ran over and pounded her tiny fists on his arm, distracting him from the suffocating child in his grip. He dropped her and hit the woman across the face, knocking her to the floor. "Don't you dare touch me, you whore!"
I don't mind when Daddy goes on his rampages. It hurts but he helps me after. He patches me up and sings to me and reads me stories at night. When they're done, he's very kind and loving. While they happen, though, they're really scary.
The repetitive slap of fist against flesh resonated throughout the house. The brunette child curled up underneath the coffee table.
Mommy is getting more and more scared, though. She says her makeup isn't working as well anymore. I wish I could help, but I can't. She told me some people may come to take me away. But I don't want to leave. I want to stay with her. Even if it means Daddy still has his rampages.
Maybe I'll draw him a pretty picture. It'll be a picture of me and him and Mommy and we'll be happy. It'll be a time where he doesn't drink or go on rampages.
Maybe he'll stop.