Spring was always a good child. She washed the dishes, cooked dinner, and even did the laundry. One rainy, wet day, she was getting ready for her first day of school, when suddenly her father came in and smacked her in the face, saying “Why aren’t you in school? It’s already 8:00!”
She put a quizzical expression on her face and replied politely, “It doesn’t start until 9:00. I don’t have to go yet.”
“It starts at 8:15 this year; doesn’t your retarded brain ever remind you of such things? GET GOING!”
She turned around; forgetting her raincoat, and walked off with tears flowing from her eyes after her father smacked her across the face quickly once more, before returning to bed. She was right, it started at 9:00, but her father always wanted her there early enough to be completely ready. She felt her face to feel if there was blood while she walked the long distance to school.
A short while later there was a train coming, so she stopped and sighed. Turning around, she could see her mother driving her van toward her location, and stopped her van. The train was already gone, and Spring turned around to take another step forward when her mother honked her horn. Turning around, she walked toward the van, and slowly climbed in with her head down.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked her while touching the bruise on her face.
“N-nothing,” she replied, “it’s…nothing.” Grabbing her raincoat, she pulled it over her head, and stepped out as soon as her mother dropped her off. She walked inside the front doors, through the noisy halls, walked into her huge classroom, looked quizzically at the seating chart, walked slowly and sat down at her desk.
Glancing at her classmates, she shyly smiled because most of her friends were there, figuring out their seat locations, and sitting around her.
“Where have you been all summer?” one of her friends asked.
She pointed to her face. “Someone kept beating me up, that’s where I’ve been…”
“Oh no, who did that to you?” her friend questioned.
“I…I don’t remember…they kept knocking me out…” she hesitated.
The friend just stared at Spring for a moment, and sighed heavily. Spring had tears flowing from her eyes as the day dragged on.
A few hours later, she started writing notes in her journal about what happened that summer, aside from the beatings her father gave her. Then she sighed, and wondered what her father would do to her when she got home an hour later. She just buried her head into her raincoat and cried.
She looked at herself. Why do I have to be thin? Why does my father always beat me up? Why can’t my mother see what is wrong with me? Why? She thought to herself as the bell rang interrupting them. She slowly got up from her seat, walked through the very noisy halls, through the front door to her mother’s van.
She wasn’t exactly thin when she thought about it. She was smaller than most people her age. She almost never went to school without something to put over her dress, because she is cold-blooded. She only tells the truth when she is cornered, and she is always self-centered.
She slowly boarded her mother’s truck, and sadly looked down at her jeans, in a somber mood, as always. She then attempted to make a fake smile, but to no avail. She remained quiet, despite her mother’s questions. She just wasn’t in a good mood.
When she got home, her father stopped her and told her in a menacing tone that she’s in for a surprise when her mother went to sleep. She just shyly shrugged and quickly ran upstairs and locked the door tightly, and placed a huge chair in front of it, so her father wouldn’t break the door down.
A week came and went, and she had scars and bruises all over her face and arms due to her father smacking her all week for being an “ungrateful wretch.” She obviously didn’t care, because she always just gave up, because it was no use resisting, because her father would beat her harder. She sat on her bed, doing nothing, except looking at her textbooks and sighing. She was never meant to be treated this way. She wished she could’ve told her mother, but she thought that her mother wouldn’t believe her at all.
Days and weeks of beatings came and went, along with the mundane task of cleaning everything, mostly with her tongue, but she always cleaned her mouth afterwards, so that hasn’t bothered her as it drag on.
Then one morning, her mother was at work, and she missed the bus. Her father came in, and with a few mighty blows, she slumped to the ground, blood flying out of her legs and arms where her father stabbed her. She laid there all day, until she forced herself to wake up. Oh, how her father could treat her like this with no remorse. She just sat there, no emotion on her face, considering she dropped them when her father knocked her out cold.
Her mother came home, and found her daughter sitting with blood surrounding her all over the floor, and decided that she was going to see a psychologist to get this sorted out. She just got up, walked slowly to her room, and got her coat, and walked outside.
It was snowing heavily outside, the wind was blowing hard, and the ice seemed to fall on the roof and the streets. Her mother just stood there, looking at the snow and ice, then started to her truck, and drove to the hospital, where her daughter’s psychologist is.
The appointment took forever. He kept asking her questions like “What happened” or “Why did this person do this” but he never got a straight answer from her.
After the appointment, she could walk normally, but it was really windy, it was VERY cold, and there was 10 ft. of snow, and 2 in. of ice, so she slipped, right near an oncoming truck, which was going 30 mph.
She woke up at a hospital, feeling very clammy, and hurting everywhere. Her doctors said that she was extremely lucky to have survived. But somehow, she knew that her father knew she was alive, and waiting with a weapon that could surely kill her!
One of her best friends, who were old enough to drive, picked her up, and stopped at a stoplight.
“Ok, Spring, tell me who did this, please.”
She hesitated a bit, and then said, “My...father. He was the one who beat me up; he was the one who stabbed me. He might be waiting for me to come home to kill me, and I really feel like crying my eyes out, that’s what’s been happening since the beginning of August.”
He just stared at her, then made a decision. He was going to the police to explain what’s been happening to her, and to put a stop to this madness, forever.
The next day, her friend arrived to her house, and walked up to her mother.
“She really needs to stay home today. Her father is in jail for what he did to her. She’s safe, but she needs a lot of rest.”
She simply nodded, and left the room. He turned around and walked away.