Wings of a Fallen Angel

The cold amber wood touched my feet and sent chills traveling up my spine. I could no longer sleep. I could still here the monsters calling my name; beckoning me into the darkness. I was lingering in the doorway, plotting my escape. My hand brought its way up to feel the fresh bruise under my eye. I winced back in pain only to have the door handle jab me in the back, where yet another bruise lay.  The first bruise was from my father punching me in my face, I did not have his dinner prepared in time before he got home from work. I felt like a slave most days, on average I would receive numerous punches from my father and slaps from my mother. I was an only child, and I was glad for this. I would never wish as much pain as I went through on such an innocent life. The other bruise was from my boyfriend, Michael. He used to be sweet, but when I don’t give him what he wants…..he hurts me.

            As my parents rose off the couch as I tried to make myself as small as possible and they walked into their room. I let out a sigh of relief. Tiptoeing to the compartment that held the stairs to the attic, I pulled it down and released them. Quietly, as I climbed up the stairs, I ignored the pain coming from all around my body and realized I had been holding my breath. Releasing it, I felt myself relax. My parents may abuse me but they are arrogant. They have no idea we have an attic, it’s the only place in the house…in the world…I feel safe. As my body came closer to entering the attic I was filled with warmth. I pulled myself up onto the floor and quietly rose, walking over to the couch next to the window. As I looked out of it I wondered if anybody saw me; knew what was happening as I did. I just had recently learned about God, and couldn’t help myself from wondered why he wasn’t here. If he really loved me, like everyone said, wouldn’t he be here by now? Before it’s too late? They say when you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: there will be something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly. I pushed a pillow to my face and screamed. Wishing for the deep sleep of wonderful dreams I no longer remember, I faintly acknowledged the fact I can’t believe forever. I may just be deceiving myself with the false hope that God will bring me light or teach me how to fly.

I closed my eyes and my hand clasped around a white paper rose lying next to me. I imagined clouds flying over my head silently singing me a soft lullaby. The purple sky rolled on, and my paper flowers gently swayed, brushing up against my body. The wind whispered my name as dark rainclouds rolled in. Raindrops fell, telling the story of my pain. As each one hit me a new bruise emerged and the monsters began calling me again. I didn’t know what they wanted but they were coming closer. This nightmare, it has been created to replace the one beyond my sleeping refuge. I couldn’t escape. I felt a claw grab me; my eyes flew open as I was yanked off the couch.

“You little brat! You didn’t think we wouldn’t find you up here?!?” My mother pulled me straight towards her face and raised a hand and struck me. My father followed in behind her.

            “What the hell is this place?” He took the paper rose from my hand and tore it. I let out a whimper.  He turned on me. “What was that?” He yelled into my face only inches away. I did not answer. “I said,” he raised his fist “What was that?”

            “Nothing...” I whispered. He hit me, connecting his fist with the bruise he had given me earlier. I crumpled to the ground; tears ran down my face as I watched them destroy my only home. My father took out a lighter and burned my roses. My mother took the couch and tore it to shreds with her nail filer only to be followed by my father throwing it out the window. Their rain of destruction left no evidence of my being there, or any hope of what little I had. My father kicked me while I was still laying there then jerked on my arm and sent me tumbling down the stairs. I watched as he took the torch and sealed up my safe haven. My mother with her nails digging into my arms drawing blood threw me into my room. I lay where she threw me not moving as the door slammed shut and the lock clicked; signaling it was now locked.