Girl In The Basement

How would you feel, if everyday when you came home, you were afraid that this day, might just be your last?

I'm Sadrina, and I'm a fifteen year old girl, who attends Riverview High, my mother Elle, died while giving birth to my brother who also died, my dad, Gabriel, is still alive, but wants to die. I have black hair, as dark as the night, and silver gray eyes, that match the moon. I'm a small girl, only 4'11, everyone looks at me like I am some kind of fragile doll, who shouldn't be touched.

Everyday when I come home, I don't even make it to the stairs, that lead to the basement, also known as my bedroom. My dad is a drunk, and beats me, everyday, no matter what I do or say, by night fall I have black, and blue marks all over my body, my lip is bloody, and I look like a doll, took out of her case, and played with. When I get the strength, I crawl down to my room, and cry all night. I barely ever sleep, which would explain the dark bags under my eyes.

My room is my sanctuary. It's where you would find me if I was lost. My room matches me, my purple walls are my bruises, my blue satin bed sheets are my tears, the coal black desk, is my mind, freeing itself. Lastly, my black ceiling, with the yellow shining, stick on stars, is my heart, which is black from hurt, the hurt I have been caused since birth, the bright yellow stars are the tears, and holes, from crying, and being played with.

It's sad when you wish that social services would randomly drive by your house, and hear the screaming, and crying, and see the blood shed, see the little doll who was taken out of her case, and played with. Wishing that they would throw your own father in prison, and find a family who actually loved you, a family that would know your story, and background, and still love you, even though your life costs you, your mothers.

School, isn't any better, you have no friends, everyone says, look it's the emo girl, or cutter, when they don't even know your story. Worst of all, is when the school populars, make fun of you, and throw you in the mud, and dirt, and walk away. When no one helps you, stands up for you, or even just asks if your alright. If your feeling pain, or if you fall asleep crying, if you ever even sleep. If those cuts on your wrist are from you or your blood shedding, sick, alcoholic father. When your falling behind, because you have no time at home to do homework, between, the beatings, and crying.

Or even worse, the one and only guy, you've loved since seventh grade, had a girlfriend, and they both made fun of you, and pushed you down, and were the populars. Where the only place you could find peace was no where, because every where you went you were either, beat, made fun of, or pushed around. When you wished your father would already kill you, so you could go to heaven, or hell, and be there, because those two places are better than being alive.

I don't know how you would feel, but I feel, neglected, unloved, destroyed, beaten, like a doll whose case was opened, and burned.

　

　

　

　

I used to play with my dolls when I was a little girl. My dad used to always laugh when I would make their outfits look funny. I was so happy, everyone was. Then my mom found out about her pregnancy, we were all so happy and could not wait to see the new arrival. That day never came though, because my mom could not take well enough care of the two of them. My mom was rushed to the hospital, the sirens were so loud, I hated it. I kept saying it was all a dream. I have said it for eleven years, eleven years too long. I said everyday that daddy really loved me, and hated what he did. That he did it because of all the pain of when mommy left. Yet, deep down, I knew it was his fault my life was like this. He decided to stop life after mom passed, he drank, smoked, did all sorts of drugs. I wanted to just crawl into a deep dark hole, and never return. I wanted so bad for my mom to be here so life could be different. Everyone says things happen for a reason... Yet, I wonder, what was the reason for my mom dieing that day? My baby brother? What was gods reason for taking the one person I could not live without. You can say, you do not need her because you are still living, I am not though. I am dead, I may walk and talk, but inside my heart is gone, my soul, if I have one, is black. I wish I was truly dead so I could be happy in heaven, or hell. Whichever I belong in.