(A/N) The image above is an eight year old version of the main character Fara, though it's animated because there are almost no images of little girls with pure white hair on the Internet and the few I did find were weird. If you find a better one please let me know. Fara's eyes are also a little more blue.
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My mouth opened in a silent scream with tears streaming down my face. I don't understand. In all the stories I snuck into my room, all the other little girls had really nice mommies and daddies. Their mommies would bake them cookies, read them bed time stories, and tuck them in at night. They would sing to them when they got scarred. Instead mine kicks me until I'm coughing up blood, throws empty glass bottles at me, and tell me how worthless I am. When I get scared she merely screams at me to shut up and calls me mean names.
In the stories the daddies would teach them how to play catch, call you their little princess, and tell you boys were bad. But my daddy, all he taught me was to shut up when he hurts me. He leaves purple bruises all over my body from where he would punch me and throw me around. My head is always hurting and bleeding from when it hits the wall.
And most of all, the parents would protect their little girls. Keep the bullies and other bad people away.
But mine are the bullies. They are the bad people.
All the little girls in the stories would go to another place almost every day and make friends. They called it school, but I've never gone. I never got to make any friends. I almost had one once but my daddy found out and hurt me really bad. He told me I didn't deserve friends. That I was worthless.
I don't understand. Why couldn't I be like those little girls in the stories?
I'm pulled out of my thoughts with another slash of searing pain across my back. Mommy found her whip again. I feel blood trickle down my chin from biting my lips to keep the screams at bay. When ever I cry out they laugh and hit harder.
Suddenly she yanks my head up by my hair and slams it into the hard tiled floor. Pain shot through my skull but I refused to cry out.
"You worthless little cunt," my mommy sneered. "I should have drowned you eight years ago instead of letting you live."
I curl up into a ball trying to protect myself from the whips, but it doesn't work. I feel my skin open up and blood drip down my back, but I still don't utter a sound. The only thing I can think is what's a cunt? Mommy and Daddy call me that all the time but I don't know what it means. They also call me a bitch, a brat, a whore, a slut, an ass, trash, and a piece of shit.
I hear my mommies footsteps walking away but I still don't move, it hurts to much. Earlier she had been throwing things and hitting me really hard. From that medical book I read I'm pretty sure that she broke a few of my ribs. I slowly run my hand over them and determine that I think she broke 3 out of 24, 2 on the left and 1 on the right, but yesterday Daddy broke 5. So that means that I currently have 16 that aren't broke. I do the math in my head and double check it.
In the stories the little girls and boys say that school is where you go to learn, and I've never gone. But I've read a lot of books on history, science, math, spelling, and all sorts of other subjects. Though my favorite books are the ones with made up characters. People that are fictional and live a different life. Live in a different world sometimes. I recently read the Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. It was amazing. I'm trying to find a way to get the next book but it's really hard. To get my books I have sneak out at night when my parents are both sleeping very deeply from the funny smelling drink inside those glass bottles. I think my books called it alcohol. When I sneak out I then go to the library and get as many books as I can. I'll also stay for a while and read some there.
I'm pulled from my thoughts again by a towel hitting my face. I slowly look up to see my daddy standing there looking at me with a disgusted look on his face.
"Clean up your damn mess you stupid bitch." he growled at me. I nodded once and slowly began to climb to my knees. Apparently I wasn't moving fast enough because I felt a swift kick into my gut making me fall back down.
"Hurry up."
That was all he said before delivering one more hard kick to my gut and then turning on his heel and walking away.
I feel another rib break. 15 out of 24 left.
I crawl back to my knees and wipe up the pool of blood that had begun to form underneath me. I then tossed the towel in the washer with some bleach and let it run. I mentally groaned at the thought of having to climb the stairs to my room. I don't know why Mommy and Daddy gave me a room on the 2nd floor. Although the only thing up there was my room, which was actually the attic. I could barely climb the stairs since the steps were so big.
When I finally made it to my room I crawled over to the bathroom to wash the cuts on my back and wrap them as well as my ribs. Luckily, when we first moved here I found an old first aid kit that had different bandages and stuff inside it.
The reason I had gotten those doctor books was so that I could learn how to do this. I was only 8, but I still new how to take care of myself and live on my own since the only time I saw my mommy or daddy was when they were hurting me. I did the cooking and the cleaning. The only thing they did was buy the groceries and if I worked hard enough then they would by extra for me to cook so I could eat. I only got to eat maybe once a weak, even though the doctor book said that wasn't healthy. I got enough water out of the faucet from my bathroom, but it always tasted funny.
After wrapping my wounds I pulled my long white hair back and crawled into bed. I pulled out the 3rd Harry Potter book, the Prisoner of Azkaban, from under my pillow and began to read from the dim light from my tiny little desk lamp.
I was at the part where Professor Lupin was teaching Harry the patronus charm when I felt my eyelids begin to droop. I closed my book and tucked it back under my pillow. Mommy and Daddy never come up here, but better safe than sorry. I turned off my lamp and was instantly engulfed in darkness.
I immediately began to tremble slightly and quickly turned the light back on. Nope, not happening tonight.
I once read a book that said that many children my age experienced an irrational fear of the dark, but my fear of it was very rational. Nothing good ever happened to me in the dark.
I lay down on my side and curled into a protective ball and drifted of into a fitful sleep.
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(A/N) Sorry for the shortness, I'll be trying to make the chapters longer. This is the first thing I've ever written on Wattpad so if you comment, please make it helpful criticism, not bitchy . I do apologize for the overall crappiness and for any grammatical errors. Also, I know that I made Fara use some larger words that aren't normally in an eight year olds vocabulary but there is a reason for that. You'll find out in the future chapters. Thanx for reading this.
