In her cot she lay, crying, cold, alone. She wanted to be held, cared for, loved. Her father? Gone. Her mother, weary of the hell she lived in, the gate way to get out? Her child, the new life, in the room next to her.
The crying went on, the call of a helpless being, to another. Dragging her feet, she sleepily went into the room, a blanket, heavy and large into the cot. The crying ceased, but soon, the sirens started....
White walls and the smell of disinfectant, the child, 8 months old, next woke up to, brought back from the edge. Her mother? Gone. When would she back? Who knew. The next arms to held her, a withered version of her parent, and a man, as withered as the women. The arms that would later help her walk, comfort her, keep her warm, catch her if she ever fell, now carried her to a house. Her home, for a long time after.
The girl grew taller, she could walk and talk, and sing and dance, that life that was so nearly ended. Her brown hair stretched down her navy cardigan, neatly tied in a little ribbon, her eyes sparkled with tears as she hugged her cherished ones goodbye, and walked into a school for the first time, and for the second time, would feel the sting of human cruelty. The children stared at her, and then the hell she would live started. The sneers and comments that to her, would become so common, she became numb to them.
Her big sister must have been there to protect her yes? No, her sister was one of them, hated her as equally as they did. Her sibling was smaller, more vulnerable, and needed much more care. She was envious, she wanted to make her feel hurt.
The child now? a young teen, still in hell, still bullied, still hated..