I cower in the corner, watching, waiting,

frightened as my father raises a fist, fierce words firing faster,

flashing rock vibrating, blows raining harder,

spit falling from his lips.

 

As I turn black and blue, bruising and bleeding,

my tear-stained face downcast, eyes swollen shut,

I am silent; no one hears my cries;

no one cares.

 

He drags me across the floor like a sack of potatoes by my hair.

He screams, punctuating each imagined slight with a slap.

I am airborne, thrown like a shot put into the dresser.

My ribs snap with a sickening crack, splintering.

 

Whimpering, praying for him to stop, I crawl,

holding my side as I drag my beaten form across the hard floor.

I leave a trail of blood, the metallic scent wafting towards me

as I linger as the door, unable to open it before he grabs me.

 

He brutally grasps my neck, his vise-like grip

coiling around me like a boa-constrictor.

My father, my condemner, his hands, my noose,

I feel the bones of my neck crushing under the pressure.

 

Morning never comes.

Here it is forever dark.

 

I wake to a slight breeze, dusting me with delicate dandelion seeds,

white in the wind.

I smell earth, dirt and flowers;

feel the hard wood at my back.

 

The black suits merge with the blue sky as the red sun

glares down, watching the scene below in blazing anger.

But I am finally at peace,

as the sun sets on the scene, a final smile fixes upon my lips.