Bad Things Happen To Good People

Chapter 1: In the Beginning

Hi people, this is the first story i have ever written, please make comments to help me improve, tell me what you think and so on, i will be uploading shortly. au revoir :) Thankyou

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‘No daddy no’ I whimpered in vain.

He just growled at the sound, snatching a knife from the kitchen as he dragged me by my hair to the lounge. I could smell the sour stench of beer on his breathe surrounding me, consuming.

My hair had unravelled from its tight bun, the soft tendrils drifting around my face, nearly as the red as the blood that coated its thick locks. It offered a comfort that reached me through the pain.  I could taste the familiar, metallic taste of blood in my mouth, dripping down from the deep gash on my forehead that throbbed with every breathe I took and every yank on my hair from my father. A persistent ache dug into my lungs right underneath my heart. Great, that’s another rib gone.

I sharply woke up to reality when I was chucked roughly on the floor, my elbows and knees scraping harshly against the carpet, I pushed myself up to hands and knees nearly collapsing with the effort, only to be shoved back down on the floor by one heavy booted foot that crashed into my head with a thud nearly knocking me out. I was kicked to the side by a steel toe digging into my fractured ribs. And that’s another rib gone.  A groan left my lips.

‘Please daddy, stop’

My wide eyes pleaded into bottomless pits of ice. Anger sparked and temper flared.

‘I aint never gonna stop, cause you killed her, my wife, it was YOU, worthless whore!’

His rough voice rose to a scream towards the end. I cowered in the corner as he spat in my face and hair. I could feel the anger radiating off him, his eyes merged into black and he threw his whole body on top of mine, pinning me down to the floor. At this movement my ribs groaned and my head was thrown sharply against the hard wall.

With the knife still in his hand, the silver glinted wickedly in the moonlight, chilling, threatening to cut me once again.

This is what it lived for. I was merely the toy.

The monster grabbed my tender arm, gripping my wrists with no withstraint. At this point there was no point struggling, it would just anger him more. In the end I would just end up getting even more hurt. His red face was huffing and panting above mine

. I took one look at his face and though he looked just like a tomato. I honestly wonder how I could find anything humorous at a time like this. It must be the head injury.  Just like a tomato – except for the eyes of course.

Once doting on me with love and admiration, were now emotionless swirls of black that glared at me through the black dots that were now appearing in front of my eyes. A sharp piercing on my arm drew me back to reality, slicing through the dots and the other pains. I glanced up at my father who was staring icily in intense concentration at the inside of my arm. More pain danced up my arm causing me to look down in horror.

There on the milky white skin of my arm were the words ‘your fault’ carved in, the cuts were gaping open and blood flooded. I simply stared down in horror.

Apparently finished with his work my father climbed off me gave me one last parting hard kick to the side which had me heaving in against the wall, curling up on myself. I could hear the heavy thud of boots departing and the door slamming shut. Persistent waves of agony bore down, gently lulling me into a heavy slumber.