Pain (You Don't Know Me)
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,586
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,586
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to person(s) living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to the work.l
Pain
I was standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling the wind through my hair when the man who is not my father came through the door and reminded me that I was sitting in the bleak grayness of what most call a living room... though it is a room hardly suited for living because you and the man who is not my father are always sinning in it. The man who is not my father is getting really close to me and I can't stand the smell... I don't understand how you can always be so close to him.
WHUP!
It felt the same as every other whup-- painful and confusing. I never know what I do to deserve the whups... so I just take them as they come. He’s babbling about something but I'm not listening because I'm still trying to figure out what I got whupped for.
Did you know that there are specks of red sewn into the carpet of the room that is not meant for living?
When drown out by thoughts, the man who is not my father sounds like traffic, annoying and loud. I listened to the noise of the traffic outside as I felt myself be pulled and jerked violently by unknown forces. I am still trying to figure out why I was whupped... did I leave the seat up?
Is that really all that bad?
The chaotic noise subsided but there is still that tinge of annoyance... that sentence I hate:
"Are you listening to me?"
No.
No, I am not listening to you. I am trying to figure out what the whupping was for and why I’ve never noticed these little red specks. Was that a rhetorical question, because you’re still talking?
Yes... when my mother gets home you'll talk to her...
About what I wonder?
You never listen to him when he talks about me like that, do you?
WHUP!
Yet again.
Why are you picking me up?
"Stand."
I stood.
"Undress."
What? Why?
He pulled my shirt over my head and I watched it float away on the grey carpet, being worshiped by the red specks. Both of my cheeks sting from the—
What are you doing?
The sound that "it" made when I hit the couch wasn't violent enough for the impact.
Why do people say it... what is it?
What is that sound?
Is the man who is not my father undressing?
I pushed myself up from the couch but was shoved back down and the sound that made wasn't violent enough for that impact either. He's being more violent, turning me over. I can feel the panic beating in my ears- I'm deaf as my hips touch the coldness of the grey not-living room and I watch my pants float away with my shirt. I struggle and the man who is not my father holds me tighter.
"Ungh!!"
Pain.
There is only one word to describe the sensation that made me make that sound... an awkward little sound. It echoed into the grayness.
Or am I back on the mountain?
The pain is pulsating so much and I know that the man who is not my father is taking something that isn’t his again... he does that often. If hit the couch again and there is no sound... there is no sound for a long while... only silence and flashing lights that bring pain with them... I hit the floor...
No, I hit the grass as the pain subsides and I am left alone on my mountain to shiver in the snow.
WHUP!
It felt the same as every other whup-- painful and confusing. I never know what I do to deserve the whups... so I just take them as they come. He’s babbling about something but I'm not listening because I'm still trying to figure out what I got whupped for.
Did you know that there are specks of red sewn into the carpet of the room that is not meant for living?
When drown out by thoughts, the man who is not my father sounds like traffic, annoying and loud. I listened to the noise of the traffic outside as I felt myself be pulled and jerked violently by unknown forces. I am still trying to figure out why I was whupped... did I leave the seat up?
Is that really all that bad?
The chaotic noise subsided but there is still that tinge of annoyance... that sentence I hate:
"Are you listening to me?"
No.
No, I am not listening to you. I am trying to figure out what the whupping was for and why I’ve never noticed these little red specks. Was that a rhetorical question, because you’re still talking?
Yes... when my mother gets home you'll talk to her...
About what I wonder?
You never listen to him when he talks about me like that, do you?
WHUP!
Yet again.
Why are you picking me up?
"Stand."
I stood.
"Undress."
What? Why?
He pulled my shirt over my head and I watched it float away on the grey carpet, being worshiped by the red specks. Both of my cheeks sting from the—
What are you doing?
The sound that "it" made when I hit the couch wasn't violent enough for the impact.
Why do people say it... what is it?
What is that sound?
Is the man who is not my father undressing?
I pushed myself up from the couch but was shoved back down and the sound that made wasn't violent enough for that impact either. He's being more violent, turning me over. I can feel the panic beating in my ears- I'm deaf as my hips touch the coldness of the grey not-living room and I watch my pants float away with my shirt. I struggle and the man who is not my father holds me tighter.
"Ungh!!"
Pain.
There is only one word to describe the sensation that made me make that sound... an awkward little sound. It echoed into the grayness.
Or am I back on the mountain?
The pain is pulsating so much and I know that the man who is not my father is taking something that isn’t his again... he does that often. If hit the couch again and there is no sound... there is no sound for a long while... only silence and flashing lights that bring pain with them... I hit the floor...
No, I hit the grass as the pain subsides and I am left alone on my mountain to shiver in the snow.