Emotion

The monsters appear.

I do not know what I did for the abuse to begin. Maybe I talked too much. Maybe I cried to easy. Maybe I reminded my father of mom, the wife who chose another man. Whatever it was, the abuse began. I do not remember when exactly it began. All I know is I began to wish it all would end. He beat me whenever he had a bad day. His favorite punishment being strangulation. He never laid a hand on my little sister and for that I am thankful. I would pray for the pain to end, but as those prayers came unanswered, I prayed for death. No one knew what was going on. In the small Podunk town I was raised in, kids often had bruises from playing in the woods. That was the only thing to do. My mother always worked to escape her unbearable marriage to my father and I always expected because of her guilt of being unfaithful. I tried to tell her how he hurt me, but when people wish not to see, they won't. He was a monster for his actions, and my mother was a monster for her choice to turn a blind eye. As I sadly learned at a young age. When I got older, the beatings grew worse. I tried to escape into the books I read, because fantasy trumped reality. Soon the only thing I felt was.... pain...