She sat on the tire swing, her legs on either side of the rope holding the tire up.
The forced smile seemed out of place on her pallid, tear-stained face. Clothes that were much too big for her hung from her skinny frame, threatening to swallow her whole. Her wide, soulful eyes were dark, and they seemed to emanate sadness. Her lips were dry and cracked; periodically, her tongue darted out to moisten them, but they were again desiccated when the cool, dry wind met them. The plastic beaded necklace that hung from her throat swung with the movement of the swing as the man who was not her father pushed her none too gently.
She was too frightened to call out against the movement, and yet much too scared to endure it much longer. The girl clung to the rope with all she had, fearing for her life, however irrationally. If it was possible, her eyes seemed to widen even further with fear.
She was but a child, yet had felt the pain of a thousand years. She longed for the woman in front of her to reach out, for her mother to embrace her. Yet she knew it was impossible. The cruel smile that dominated her mother's features seemed to unfold still wider with every passing second, as the man who was not her father pushed her still harder. The swing swung back hard, and she bit back a cry of pain. This man, who was not her father, this man laughed now. The man who was not her father turned to her mother. Both were smiling, had crooned something about going away—going away!
Weren't they already away? This place where they now stood, her sister and her brother, her mother, herself, and the man who was not her father; this place where they now stood was foreign to her. She knew nothing of it; yet the two grown people before her stood as if they belonged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world; to be here in the darkness of night, standing in front of a house that surely belonged to someone else. They seemed to be waiting for something or someone. The man who was not her father kept pushing her, but the mirth in his countenance at her pain was now gone; his mind was somewhere else.
Her mother was anxious, her cold eyes searched the darkness beyond the pool of light cast by the yellow porch light. These hate-filled eyes did not seem to find what they were seeking, for they made their way back to her, and that malevolent smile found her mother's face once more.
The little girl wished they could all just leave now; she was tired, hungry, cold.
As if reading her thoughts, her mother said aloud that she was hungry and ready to leave. The man who was not her father grabbed the rope while she passed to stop the swing, striking her cheek in the process. She slammed to a halt in front of him and pain exploded behind her jaw. The girl gritted her teeth as the man who was not her father jerked her roughly off the swing and pushed her towards the porch.
Rubbing her eyes, she stumbled up the steps with her brother and sister. She cringed as, bringing her hand down, she cuffed her already bruised cheek. She truly believed the grown-ups would follow them, and await in their company whatever it was that was coming. But when she turned, her matriarch and the man was no relation of hers were sliding into the stolen car.
The illegal vehicle roared to life, and she had to shield her eyes from the too-bright headlights that poured from its headlights.
Her wicked mother and her evil companion, the man who was not her father, called out to them to stay. Fearful of what would happen if she didn't, she obeyed.
They were leaving, but to her, they were already gone.
The car doors slammed, and their spiteful laughter echoed behind them as the man who was not her father peeled out of the driveway, dust flying.
They were gone.
Her unruly hair whipped about her face with the wind, and the familiar sting of tears plagued her eyes. She blinked them away.
They were gone.
She didn't know whether to feel relief or to pine at their having left, but she kept repeating to herself what she knew to be true.
They were gone.
And they were never coming back.
