Pretty Is

Chapter 3

Waking up cold and sore,I realized I had failed. They only throw me in here when people visit. To be in here before then meant I had disappointed everyone. Here was three hardwood walls and a door. If you could call it that.

It was underneath the basement stairs;reminiscent of another but more crude. Spiders and rats are only a few of things that dwells here. Dad would also throw in poisonous snakes and rabid dogs,depending on how angry he was. Anything he could get his hands on. And if I moved so much as an inch,it'd get worse.

As I got older the spaces changed. A toy chest. A medieval trunk. A coffin. The oven. I would have to lay on a rack and if I didn't stay still,it'd get turned on. I can't tell you how many times I was in and out of hospitals from multiple cuts and burns. The doctors were suspicious at first but anyone who gave dad problems was never seen again.

One doctor was even bold enough to come to the house. Dad had such a fit. His face was bright red and the vein in his forehead was throbbing. That was the first time I saw blood that wasn't mines. He took him to the back of the house and shot him between the eyes. I watched from my room in the attic.

He made me dig the hole and bury him then he took the doctor's car to some friends of his. After that he beat me to within an inch of my life. I couldn't move for days. Mom wasn't happy about it. It meant she had to cook and clean. She glared at me after each chore was completed. And when I healed she smacked me across my face with all her rings.

I never had to worry about teachers or worrying. I was homeschooled. At least,that's what they told the state. Honestly they were doing the work for me and beating me afterwards,for making them do extra work. I always apologized cause truly it was my fault. I was too stupid to do my own work. To lazy to do my chores. And ungrateful for the restraint they showed me.

Every sunday, I'm only let out of the house for church. Mom would cover my scars with makeup and let me bathe and wear fresh clothes. I can't talk to anyone or go anywhere without permission. Other church kids would try to invite me to play but dad always said maybe next time.

On the other hand my brothers and sisters could do anything they wanted. It sucked being the youngest. When they got in trouble,they always blamed me. Chair falls,it's me. Glass breaks,it's me. Car won't start,best believe it's me. Not once did I ever get a break.

Still I loved Sundays. Dad was more lenient then and I even got to watch the big black thing in the living room with everyone else. If there was a game on and dad's team lost he'd make me chop wood in the dark. I didn't mind. I was being helpful to daddy and the Lord would bless me for it.