It's That Time

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It's that time again. Dad's upset in his room

trying to drink his life away, but. it never works.

Believe me when I say I can tell.

He came home from the morgue with darkness

in his eyes. His soft blonde hair was knotted

and wet; his hard hands seething death and

despair. He looked at me with hatred in his

eyes.

"Dad?" I asked with all the innocence I

had left in me.

I don't know if it was a trick of the light or my

mind trying to find some happiness in this dark

and gloomy house. With the couches torn and

smelling like urine and the door almost off its

hinges. But I thought I saw his eyes soften, but

just as quick as a snake it was gone and his eyes

were back to that cold, icy glare I was so used to

seeing.

I can't even remember what it was like

before he turned into this- this monster. No

Nikki! Don't think like that, there has to be some hope left!

I kept telling my self this but the thought was

quickly drowned out and replaced by other

thoughts that destroyed my hope and ridiculed me

for being stupid enough to think that I could

change things.

I could feel his hatred from across the room.

I wanted to say something, anything, that would calm

him down but I knew nothing would. I had killed the

one thing he loved and now he wanted to kill me.

I stood there trembling waiting for him to go, and

he did. He gave me one last glance and stormed

into his room.

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It's been two hours since then. I keep glancing

to that dark corner where it lays and mocks

me. "Wonder how many it'll be this time." It

sneers.

The door opens . . . . . "NIKKI!" My father

yells.

There's nowhere to run; nowhere to hide.

I can't say no. There's no escape. He looks

at me with his drunken face. I don't even have

to be told. I walk over to the corner. "Why hello

again." It jeers. And I sit. I sit and wait for the

pain.

"You've been a naughty girl." My father

growls.

I look down as he grabs the back of

my shirt and pulls it up; revealing my scarred

and bruised back to the mercy of the open air.

He picks up his whip and raises it behind his

head. I cringe as I hear it slice through the

air and onto my back. I scream, but I don't

know why. Nobody can hear me, and nobody

cares. Besides there's nothing they can do.

See I told you I can tell.

It's that time again.

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