Wingless and Beautiful

Chapter One

Chapter One

“Please stop!”  I screamed.  I began to feel the trickle of acid along the side of my face, burning my skin, forever damaging it.

“Oh God, let her go!”  I heard my mother crying.  “Let her go!  Please, I beg you!  Stop!”

“She’s a devil’s spawn!”  He said in a hoarse voice.  “And she deserves all this pain!”

He let me go and I fell to the floor.  Pain was numbing my whole body.  I was exhausted.  I struggled to look up and saw the familiar man with big brown eyes come after me again.  I know that face.  It used to be a face of comfort for me.  I remembered the first time I met him.  I was only six years old.  He was the only father I ever knew… the only father I ever loved.  He took care of me like I was his own flesh and blood. 

Now… I could barely recognize his face.  His eyes were red and there were black circles under them.  Substance abuse changed not only his physical attributes.  It changed the way he saw things too.  In his eyes now, I was probably a little monster that he had to kill.  Hallucinations took over him.  It was difficult to separate fiction from fact… nightmares from reality.

I didn’t give a fight when I saw him swing the bat.  I could only close my eyes.

“Monster!”  He screamed as he prepared to hit me in the face.

I braced myself for the pain… hoping for a miracle.  Hoping to God that it was not yet my time.  Wishing I had a Guardian Angel who would magically appear on my side to shield me… save me.

Then I heard a gunshot.  One.  And another one.  Two.  It almost impaired my sense of hearing.

The mix of gunpowder, burning skin and blood were the most potent scent I smelled.  The silence was nearly deafening.  I could only hear the wild beating of my heart, the silent whimpers that I didn’t know belonged to me and the fast intakes of last breaths that belonged to the man I once called Dad.

My own breathing was steady.  I stared into space, not really looking at anything in particular.  Trying to distract myself from the harsh reality that I know would slap me in the face and probably cripple me for life.

It was over… months of torture and physical abuse.  Days of struggling to heal from the wounds.  Now… I could only feel my heart breaking, because for six years of my life, I truly looked up to him.  He had always been there to take care of me and my Mother.  He used to chase my nightmares away.  And now… I’m sure most of my nightmares would have him in it.

I heard the sirens.  Help was here.  They would come to make it all right.  They would take my me away to a place far enough… where nobody could hurt me again.  They would fix my wounds… make sure I could function again… I could live normally again.

But what they couldn’t do for me… was what I needed the most.  They could not take away the scars that he left me… and no matter what they do, they could not take the pain, the fear and the nightmares away.