TOO YOUNG TO BE SO SAD(ECCEDENTESIAST)

SEVEN

Terror gripped me, shaking me to my core. My mind raced, thoughts muddled and blurry. I prayed fervently that this was just another nightmare; I would gladly become a Christian like Mom, if only this could be a dream.

I forced myself to confront the harsh reality: supporting my sister, who was now speaking rapidly, and our enraged father who seemed prepared to unleash his anger upon us and deal with me later. My legs felt weak, and I never imagined that this day would come, certainly not so soon.

"I was hospitalized, Dad. I underwent a tough surgery. You never visited, and now what?!" my sister's voice trembled as she confronted him.

"Now what?!" His voice boomed like thunder, causing us both to shudder. His eyes were bloodshot, and I could sense his anger boiling over in response to the question directed at him. He turned his attention to her, stepping closer as we instinctively took a step back, clutching onto each other to avoid stumbling.

"You're daring me, princess," he said sweetly to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You keep late nights, and you dare ask daddy questions? Huh?"

"I was in the hospital, Dad. I had a near-death experience. Why don't you care about us? Why do you hate us so much? We're your children," she implored, her voice carrying a hint of desperation as she tried to capture his attention with her innocent tone. Little did she know the storm she had just unleashed.

"Is that what you've been teaching her? To talk back to her father? And to have a boyfriend who comes early in the morning to pick you girls up for school, huh?!" He erupted in anger, his words a fierce attack that made both of us flinch.

As my sister and I exchanged a bewildered glance, his angry gaze lingered on us for a moment before he stormed toward the storage room. My eyes widened in realization; he was headed for his hockey stick.

"Upstairs now!" I shouted at my sister.
"What?! Why?" she questioned in confusion.
"Please, just listen to me! Go upstairs to your room, lock the door, and... and put on headphones or play something loud," I implored urgently, desperately trying to convey the gravity of the situation.
"Izzy, pleaseee," I begged, my voice cracking with emotion. Seconds later, the creaking sound of the store room door opening reached us, followed by the ominous scrape of his dragging hockey stick. I watched as my sister, her eyes filled with tears, climbed the stairs in a mixture of terror and pain. I'm sorry, Izzy.

Emerging from the store room, he immediately vented his rage by smashing Mom's vase to the ground. My sister's horrified scream pierced the air.
"Go!" I yelled at her.

I stood there, watching her struggle upstairs and listened until I heard the door to her room shut and lock. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for the pain that was about to come or was already before me. As I shifted backward, I stumbled and fell onto the floor.

"He came here... your boyfriend, to question my parenting," he spoke with a mixture of bitterness and derision, his voice tinged with hysterical laughter. "Funny, right?" He nodded to himself, his face contorted in anger.
"Why aren't you laughing?" His face turned beet red, and with that, his hockey stick swung toward me. I edged away, using my butt to propel myself in a desperate attempt to distance myself from him.
"Why didn't you laugh?" His tone was both menacing and delirious as he advanced on me, his hockey stick becoming an extension of his wrath. The blows rained down on me without mercy, and I stifled my screams, knowing that each one would only invite more violence. The stick connected again and again, until I felt blood seeping and my breath growing faint. He continued relentlessly until he seemed satisfied, until darkness mercifully enveloped me.

Over time, I had become accustomed to the physical torment of his punches and kicks, but the pain inflicted by his hockey stick was a different kind of agony, one that etched itself deeply into my memory.