Once upon a fucked up time, long long ago… a 9 year old stood in front of a large picture window, facing the road.
The view probably would’ve been nice had she been able to see.
It was evening and summertime.
There were still children playing outside.
The little girl hoped no one would look in the window, but she’d had no way of knowing if they actually were close to it, or not.
She had a paper grocery bag over her head, and her bare legs were still throbbing from the belt marks inflicted earlier.
If she had any way of knowing what made the person want to punish her in this way, she would’ve avoided it. All she wanted was to play and be left alone.
She hoped no one saw her, standing in the large picture window, facing the street, wearing her nightgown and a large paper bag, with the words:
“ I AM A LIAR!” written on it.
The matter was too complicated for her to figure out and really, only an alert grown up would ever be smart enough to spot the tears of rage the child began to store up in the back of her brain.
She wasn’t really a liar, that much she knew.
Except that every time the “punisher” had an accusation, the thin, quiet girl would be asked to admit to it.
Not admitting brought a beating.
She didn’t do it. (liar)
She wouldn’t admit (liar)
to something never done. (liar)
She’d been hit until she got tired.
She got hit until she admitted to…
to what exactly?
She marveled at the accusations.
Big brother lost his glasses. (you must have taken them)
Something got broken in the house (you must have done it)
You were seen somewhere,
you were doing something,
you weren’t somewhere,
You didn’t accomplish something.
What a fucking liar you are! Only a ‘retard’ would lie and think she could get away with lying to the punisher.
The paper bag only stayed on long enough for the punisher to mock her.
“look there’s so n so coming down the street….
They can SEE YOU”
There were substitutes for the belt.
Pepper was angrily poured on the girl’s tongue, when fingers pried her lips open, until it was gagged on.
Dishsoap.
Humiliation.
Banished to the bed when the sun was still high in the summer evening..
If the 9 year old could see the future (or even recall most of her own past)
she would’ve slit her wrists.
There were years ahead of the “punisher” and herself in a cruel dance
The bag which was over her head and shoulders,
wasn’t the beginning and it wasn’t end either.
It was somewhere in the muddled middle of a little girl’s life, and it would be years before she could ever make any sense of any of it.
*picture from here
Are you one of my siblings? Of course, our “punisher” was a “him” and not a “her”. Hugs to you SG for the child you were and the child you are to God.
Life has a way of bringing people together who’ve been through the fire. thanks for the hugs. :’)
You have a way with words dear Sweetiegirlz and more so your words hit me in the stomach as if I were reliving moments in time, perhaps not mere moments but more to the point, years upon years.
You’ve come a long way to be able to write about it so filled with feeling and yet a coldness? Takes guts and you’ve got tons of that. Pat sent me here because our tales are such that we could be each other, she is right from what I have read.
Hang in there and I thank what ever circumstance led you to start writing about it all because above all else it helps so many, more so us.
Hugs to you huns!
Sanity, thank you for affirming what I’ve suspected. That by writing this story, someone/s will be helped some how. I’ve yet to reveal what the catalyst was for this writing, but I will soon…(((hugs back)))and peace wherever you find it.