The Girl No-one Knew Existed

Once there was a little girl that no-one knew existed, not even the mailman. 

Her eyes were brown, no, golden brown, beautiful, golden. Her hair was also brown, brown with lifeless bouncy curls that hung in shame over her skinny bruised shoulders. Her voice was unknown, because she never learned how to speak, except the words, "No!" and "Ow!". Her face was tiny, yet powerful. But no one ever saw it. No one, except her Mother and Father, who only opened the door to throw her left over bread and water.

She was kept locked away in the attic, where she enterainted herself by racing raindrops dripping down the pipe in the corner, and dreaming of a world, a world she had never known, but imgained it to be pretty...awesome. A world where, instead of stale bread, she had cake and ice cream for dinner. A world, where she felt the warmth of a hug and a kiss. A world where she could talk, laugh, run and play. A world, she would never come to know.

This little girl, didn't even know her name. If asked, she would probably answer, "stupid," "life ruiner," "worthless," piece of shit." Her mother and father probably had already forgotten it, because sometimes, they even forgot she was kept a lock, unless she made a sudden noise, or cry, or when they had to stop a neighbor from wondering up those stairs to where a little girl lie dying.

Sometimes she lied on the cold, worn out floor, sobbing her sadden gold eyes out to the point of a miniature flood, causing a neighbor to knock on the door, demanding an answer. After the worried, potential life safer would be scurred off, the little girl would hear the dreaded sound of footsteps marching up the attic steps, and the door would be swung open.

Her hair would be ripped out, her eyes would be blackened, her mouth would be swollen shut, her cries would be overshadowed by her parents lecture. Then the door would slam shut, and she would be left alone to cry.

Then he would come out. He was tall, skinny, and his arms were warm. His neck was the best place to rest on, and his lap was the safest place. His kisses were heavy with protection, and his voice was soothing. He always watched from afar, then would creep out to sooth the little girl. "I'm here, I'm here," is all he would speak in her ear, as he rocked her to sleep, for her to wake back up and find him sitting back in his corner, where he watched in protection.

One night her mother came home drunk. The door slammed shut and the little girl bounced up from the sudden jolt, and the heavy footsteps pounding on the stairs, coming closer and closer. The door swung open, and the little light was flipped on.

Her mother focused on the one she had given birth to. Her recurring bruising, her forever swollen eye, her tiny lips broken. She raised a crooked finger in the air and pointed to the little girl, and said, "this ends now."

Her mother stomped to the little girl, a knife in hand. Within moments, the little girl's voice was reborn, and she hollered as she was being butchered with the blade. The blade was slammed in her tiny, malnourished legs, and snapped in two in a swift moment by her mother's grip. Her arms were broken so she couldn't fight back, her other eye blacken in a quick second. The blade quickly made imprints all over her tiny body.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand watching his little girl being hurt, so he came. He crawled out from his corner, screaming, alerting the neighbors. Finally, her mother ended her suffering with a quick stab to the neck, and she left, leaving him to cry into his best friend, little girl's arms.

The house was soon flooded with police men, knocking down the door to their house, forcing an answer. Lies quickly ran off their tongues, but the mother's fashion choice of child's blood causes a different approach. The clicking of handcuffs were heard as one brave policeman crept his way up to the attic.

He pushed open the ajar door gently, coming to the heartbreaking site. The little girl, dead, in a pool of her own red pain, with her teddy bear clinched in her arms.

Now everyone knew she existed, even the mailman, and she lived in a place with ice cream and cake for dinner, a place where she got hugs and kisses, a place where she could run, jump and play.

A place, where everyone knew she existed.