My Personal Hell "The Wonderful Child"

Autobiography written by Crow Feather on Sunday 21, October 2007

Member Avatar
Through the eyes of an abused child

Overall Rating: 88.7%

This writing has been rated by 2 members, resulting in a rating of 88.7% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

Spelling & Grammar:92%
Why, why and why, I don't know, I don't care, I cant breathe, I am suffocating I can't breathe, like a dead bird's flightless body, it's undermined defenses buried in the shallow grave of loving lies. They deceive you and you believe. You don't want to know the truth, about them and about yourself. Despair is growing like the vines on an old bridge. The bridge is unstable, not able to hold the weight of the oncoming, unsuspecting traveler. Soon to be deceived by the false security of the decaying bridge. The last hope, the last struggle, the last death. Running is dieing hope. Despair is running to the last place in your heart and realizing the inevitable death of all illusions. Yourself. What is inside? The secret is deep and well hidden. Keep digging, keep digging, it is there but do you want to find it? What love is buried deep inside my soul? Never to be found, never to be shared. My mind flicks thoughts like a tail swatting flies. There is no end to be hoped for, only the continuing game of life and death, swatting, or being swatted. Nothing left to find nothing left to be given, nothing left at all. I am a wandering boy, finding refuge in a white house. There is a lady, gray and sweet. Peaceful and serene, she takes my small hand and shows me her garden. A butterfly darts and flutters and lands on my palm. She laughs and I realize she is lonely and sad, and so am I. Does she love me? Or does she want to use me like so many others? Love is a lie people tell to get what they want. I believed in what I thought was love. It betrayed me. She is warm as she caresses me and I feel the security of her bosom against my body, I don't want sex! I want love. She does not know or does not care. She wants her pain to go away and I can do that, even if it is only temporary. I will sacrifice once again, to bring peace for a brief moment. Then I will die again. Isn't that love? to give unconditionally? I don't know I am a child. It is too much for me to understand. I only know that I can take away her pain. If only briefly. Time passes and we fall asleep. When I awake, I see she is satisfied and I decide to leave, I give her a small kiss on the cheek as she sleeps. She seems peaceful for now, the warm sun caressing her. The pain will come back, it always does. I walk past the garden and the sweet aroma jars me back into reality. Suddenly, I realize that I am alive! I want to leave now! What am I doing here? What is this place? what have I done! Running out the brown front door, down the concrete path to the hot asphalt street. The other children are there. They are staring, and pointing. If they only knew, that I can take away their pain, they would not laugh. I run faster than I have ever run. The wind in my hair and the rhythmic sound of my shoes as I run helps me to forget, and by the time I am home, I have forgotten. My mother smiles as I enter the house and she sees the wonderful child that she bore. He is one of many children, the seventh of ten. He seems happy and she is glad because there are too many children to worry about. The child that is happy is one less to worry about. She gives him milk and cookies, and returns to her housework. He doesn't see her until that night before bed. Although, he has been there all the time, he was just one of many, unnoticed. Unless he was in pain and in need of immediate attention, he was just one of many. She tries to love him, to give him what every child needs, to feel safe, secure and wanted. Although she tries, there are just too many. He goes to sleep, knowing that he is lost to her forever. Even though she tries, he knows there are just too many. He lies awake thinking, "What can I do? Maybe, I can bring peace, or death, I don't know? Maybe I will just disappear, one less to worry about." He wipes the tears from his face and slowly drifts off to sleep, hoping, that he will not awake. Crow Feather 7/7/04

Post Comment

Please Login to Post a Comment.


    Reading it was like walking over river rocks. Great story and excellent writing though.