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A voice for the Child |
| Written by Morgen | |
| Thursday, 27 December 2007 | |
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It’s funny how most abusive mothers can cover things up so nicely isn’t
it? He tried only once to tell someone the things his mother did to him. No one
would believe she could be such a sick, demented mess of a human being.
He heard her heavy footsteps stomp the
thinly carpeted floors above him. She ran down the stairs like a buffalo in a
running herd. He knew it wasn’t good. He sat, motionless on the side of his
bed, with feet hanging off. The clock ticked only once more before the door
flew open and she charged at him. She dug her nails into the soft skin on the
back of his arm, that when pinched felt worse than being stabbed in the leg,
something of which he had experience in, a story to be told another time
perhaps.
He thought she might not have found
out – but he was wrong – terribly wrong. She dragged him up the stairs, her
nails still digging into his flesh, and roared. A mad woman’s roar. He didn’t
squirm this time, for he knew that fighting only increased her anger, which
meant a hard spank with a longer, thicker wooden spoon.
The bathroom was the end of their destination. He looked down at the
poopy briefs he tried to conceal behind the toilet only an hour earlier. Wails
and tears overcame him and he looked for sympathy in her eyes but he received
none. Instead, the brown stench of cloth was pressed into every oral cavity
that made itself known on his face. Smears of feces mixed into saliva and salty
tears.
She was sick of her four-year old son’s inability to wipe his own
bottom after going to the washroom. Her new action plan served her well for she
no longer needed to clean up his mess. After all it was only an old method used to
house train a dog. Any mother would have done the same… Copyright 2007 Morgen |
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| Last Updated ( Thursday, 27 December 2007 ) |
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