Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘child’

Home.

The destination I aim for everyday after work.

My family inside awaiting my arrival, planning dinner, their voices echoing off of the kitchen walls, and baby squeals travelling to meet me at the door.

A sweet welcome.

Until I see the mark.

The dental records from another chid left in my baby’s arm.

I hear Brian ask me to be calm so he can relay the information.

The world turns from shades of red to black, I picture myself growing claws out of my finger tips and sharp fang like teeth capable of ripping into any opponent.

A low growl is forming in my throat and threatening to escape as my body fights the urge to crouch into a pouncing position.

“Who.Did.This?”

Is all I can mutter. The room is dark, a spotlight shines on the red teeth marks that appear to be pulsing on my daughters arm.

“They don’t know, she didn’t cry or make a fuss, they noticed it late in the day.”

I feel a sharp pain in my gut, someone is stabbing me, but when I look down there is no blood. My head is pounding.

I pace back and forth like a caged animal attempting to keep my composure but the red marks scream at me.

You weren’t there to protect me!

Rushing to my daughter I ask her what happened, who hurt her?

She touches my face.

My growl turns into tears.

She smiles at me and reaches for my hair.

My sharp teeth meant to cut into my prey retract.

She laughs and says “mama?”

My claws fall away and I touch her angry marks

I wasn’t there to protect her.

But she was ok.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

Day 64

This place?

It sucks.

They told me I would only have to be here for 30 days. I’ve been here for 63.

I do what they tell me because I want to leave. Wake up on time, shower in a bathroom that I share with people I barely know or trust, and eat breakfast. Food I hate. I’ve asked for something else but was told to eat what was offered, this isn’t a restaurant.

I know that.

I go school. Not my school, not anymore, a new school for kids like me. That’s what they told me. I still go because I want to go home. I do my work.

Its been 63 days. They said 30.

I’m not going to be nice anymore.

I don’t trust them, they lied to me.

I want to go home. I miss my mom.

When they ask me to wake up I will tell them to get out of my room and I will throw things at them. They will nod saying that the “honeymoon period” is over.

They are wrong.

I want to go home.

When I’m hungry I will eat what I want or throw things until I get it. I will punch holes in walls, become verbally aggressive, tell them I have  rights.  I am desperate to know the truth.

I will run for the door only to be grabbed by strong hands and pulled back. I will feel the ground on my back and spit into the faces of the liars around me.

Anger will engulf me. A fiery rage that I can not escape.

Medication will be prescribed to calm the beast.

I’ll feel lost.

I miss my mom.

What if she’s forgotten me?

Leighann

This weeks Red Writing Hood prompt asked us; Is there someone who drives you crazy?  Someone who really gets under your skin.  Write a first-person piece – as if YOU are this individual. Write from his or her perspective and include the things that really bother you. For instance, maybe there’s a good reason why they eat with their mouths open, or why they use sarcasm as a weapon.

Read Full Post »