SA2PATA2MABA2RA 52, '27
Dear Mom,
I am huddled under the tree writing this, the breeze blowing my untidy hair into my eyes and making them water. Before I started writing this letter to you, I gazed longingly at the happy children ahead of me, wishing they would make an offer for me to join them and play. But no. No one likes to talk to me. They think I don't hear what they whisper about me behind my back but I do. They call me a freak and a weirdo. It is painful and I have no friends at all, not even my classmates.
I look up as I scrawl against this page. Everyone seems to be having fun. They're all playing. The boys are in the field at the farthest corner of the playground and the girls are gathered in a group, chattering. A few are skipping, some going through the slides. Except me.
I am alone. No one to talk to and I have learnt to keep to myself because no one loves me. I don't even love myself.
I try not to let their excited yells and shouts affect me as I write but that is almost impossible. Even as I breathe, I shift as far possible from the tree, reluctant to let its bark touch my hurting back.
Father flogged me yesterday. More than I could count. And it is even a wonder I went to school today because for a moment I thought I would die and meet you in heaven.
I promised myself I would not cry, just as big boys don't cry, but I did cry as he whipped my skin in that dark basement. I kept on pleading but he refused to stop.
He keeps on hurting me everyday Mom and I don't understand his reasons why. Mom, do you know that I blame you too? If you had brought me into this world as a girl, I wouldn't be flogged everyday by Father.
The bell just rang now. It is time to go in and learn. I hope I can pay attention today. We are having a maths test, Mom.
Wish me luck and please, come back from heaven and be with your darling boy.
I miss you so much Mom. So so much. And before I end this letter, I think I should pray to Holy Mary. Maybe if I do so, she would make Father stop beating me every Sunday.
Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.
Your son who misses you terribly,
Ave Maria.
P.s: I know you are surprised at my use of big words. Well, since I am a loner, I always go to the library and read English textbooks. Also my English teacher is a kind woman. She says that I am intelligent and fast to learn so everyday after school, I go to her class to learn.
I hope you are proud of me.
A/N: I pity for this poor child :( Meanwhile Jade is about to meet Kian in the next chappie! I'm so exicted!
Nita :-))
YOU ARE READING
On His Terms
Romance"You can have me, Kian," I whispered, elation that my plan was coming into play, making my voice low. "Are you sure? Because you don't know, Jade. You," a deep groan escaped him, the rumble of his words vibrating against the arch of my throat, "don...
