"Mommy!" I screamed in pain as the man hit me over and over again. I pulled against the ropes and screamed a wordless scream that held misery and horror that a seven year-old should not have been able to make. But I did. The man smirked and then he leaned over me to were my hands were clenched, trying not to shake, and he picked up one. Then he took out his knife again and started to carve pictures into my hand. I screeched with all my heart and the blood flowed out of my hand, soaking the dirt floor of the barn and then I passed out.
My eyes finally opened and the man was gone. I wanted to go back to my mommy, I had only left her for a couple minutes, but that didn't matter to the man. He had stolen me and taken me from my mommy and just wanted me to feel pain. He had scratched pictures into all of me and had bruised me. My face looked like a tiger face paint, but it wasn't face paint, it was a permanent mask made by the knife. Even if I lived I would always have the marks that the man had put on me. I would always hurt.
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A Snatch of Stories Sewed Together
Short StoryJust a few short stories that I have written, but didn't want to make them into their own book. Status: 95% chance of not being updated (1/6/17)
