posted on Aug, 1 2009 @ 01:11 AM
My story is just that . . . my story. I am not a celebrity. I do not come from a family of wealth. Does that mean that my story is not important? Do
you think my story unworthy of the pen? I will not be pained if you think so, that is your prerogative. I however choose to write of my life in the
hope that it may touch something in some of you. I do however hope that none of your lives mirrors mine in anyway. I would not wish my life on anyone,
but I am not bitter nor angry for I have lived . . .
I have thought long and hard and have decided not to try and create a story with made up filler paragraphs. I will start with the very first memory
that I have . . . I guess you could call it the beginning . . . my beginning.
I awoke on my own as usual. The house was quiet. I assumed that once again I had been left alone over night while "they" enjoyed a night of
partying. I was not yet five years old. I made my way to the kitchen, pulled a chair over to the cabinet and took down a box of corn flakes. I then
pulled the chair over to the cabinet on the opposite wall and reached for a bowl. I didn't quite get the chair close enough . . . I had the bowl only
by my fingertips when the chair slipped from beneath me. The ceramic bowl fell to the floor and shattered in one direction and I fell to the other,
bumping my head on the counter as I went down. I hadn't heard "him" come into the room. I knew that I was in for it. He would be hung over if not
still drunk. He made his way over to me and kicked me full out in the stomach. Before I could even gasp for breath, he had pulled me to my feet by the
hair on my head. He then punched me in the face four or five times and then threw me across the room, where I landed against the wall with a thud.
Lucky for me he was tired.
This was a good day. Yes, I would have a black eye and yes my nose was bleeding and lips were swelling, but I didn't think he broke anything.
Somehow that doesn’t' paint a picture of a "daddy" does it.
"Mommy" was no better.
I do not wish to make anyone ill, but I would like to share this story about her. I was seven years old and awoke one Tuesday morning with a fever.
I remember the day because I was kept home from school and we were going on a field trip and I was upset that I had to miss it, anyway . . . with the
fever, later came the vomiting. It was late enough in the morning that she had had a few drinks. She walked by my bedroom just as I threw up. Most
mothers would have been concerned, consoling in some way . . . no . . . not her . . . she grabbed me by the back of the head and shoved my face in the
mess I had made and told me to lick it up. I of course refused, and ended up missing the rest of the week and part of the next to give the bruises and
cuts time to heal some. Enough so that an excuse could be made up to cover the truth. Such was my life. I endured this for many years. No one cared...
One day, at age 13, I had just come in from school, tired and not feeling very well. Years of beatings had left me weak and frail. I went straight
upstairs to my room, closed the door and laid down across the bed. They came in together this time. Not that this was anything new, they had ganged up
on me many times. What made this time different? They were sober. They sat down on the bed on either side of me and proceeded to tell me that they
had taken a life insurance policy out on me a few months ago and that they now needed the money. I stared at them blankly, not fully registering their
words...I watched dumbly as "he" went over and opened the window, peered out and then walked back over to where I laid. I was startled when he
grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me to my feet. Dragging me towards the window, he was shouting for me to finally be of some use...with that,
he threw me out the window where I landed with a loud thud on the concrete driveway below.
I could hear "her" fake screams of grief and terror, I could hear his too...I could hear the birds singing and the wind blowing through the
trees...I could hear sirens...coming...I just couldn't move...But...I was alive!
That would piss them off!
I laughed inside for a moment before the darkness overtook me. I awoke a couple of days later in the hospital...I could see, I could hear...I could
not however, move nor speak. I heard a nurse tell someone to come quickly that my eyes were open, followed by a fairly small round bespectacled man
entering the room..the doctor I assumed. He started talking to me...telling to blink if I could hear him...In my mind I was blinking...I was blinking
with all I had...I just wasn't actually blinking. He muttered something to the nurse about me being brain dead and left the room. Later that same
day, the doctor, nurse and my parents came in and stood beside my bed. The doctor was explaining what would happen once they turned the machines
off... I would die peacefully he told them, but there were papers that needed to be signed.
My mind was racing...I could not let them get away with this... I was alive...I am alive....I finally decided to do something that I had never done
before...I didn't really know how outside of what I had seen on tv...I prayed... Dear God, I don't think you know me, my name is Trey. I am sorry
that I haven't introduced myself sooner...don't be mad at me. I have no idea if your real or not, but I have no other choice. My parents are trying
to kill me...they have beaten me for years...but now they want me dead for money...please God, please....if you are real and you love me like the man
on tv said, then please...help me...please...I laid there, waiting.....waiting for the bright lights, trumpets...something...anything...I waited and
waited...I watched as the room again filled with people, my parents among them...they turned off the machines that were keeping me alive... I could
see the fake tears and the sly smiles on the faces my parents...I could hear the machine..I could feel my chest getting heavy...beat beat....beat
beat....beat beat...beat...beat......beat.........beat................be____________________...Was I dead? What the...I could see everyone, but I was
over them...in the air hovering over them....I watched as he put his arm around her as if to comfort her...Ha, that was a laugh. I followed them down
the hall and into the elevator where I watched them hug and high five each other... I stayed with them as they made their way out to the parking lot,
careful to put their "grieving faces" back on...for one brief moment, I wondered why God didn't answer my prayer...It was in that moment that a
drunk driver, out of control, tore into the parking lot...he wove left, then right...in a panic he hit the gas instead of the brake and I watched as
he plowed over the gloating murderers...I saw the doctors and nurses run to their aid...I knew that it was too late...I had seen the dark mist come
and envelope their spirits and take them screaming into the air...they were dead...so was I...but I was suddenly back in my body...I was breathing...I
was moving... the nurse was crying, I was crying...God had answered me after all! They were gone and I was alive, alive to finally live and
hopefully... find a family to love me!
"Vengeance is mine", sayeth the Lord.
[edit on 1-8-2009 by Greenize]