Lost Girl

CHAPTER ONE

The wind bites at my cheeks as I sprint, half of my face covered in dank tear stains, half covered in scrapes that have formed over my time in the forest. The moon is nothing but a silver slit in the sky, concealing my being here in the forest, but not giving enough light to be useful in leading the way. I stop, realizing that my feet are raw and my heart is about to give out. This has to be far enough. Fear has driven me far enough.

The branches under my feet are broken. My insides feel as if they're being flipped inside out, and I just can't do this anymore. I sit on the ground, every inch of my body and muscles aching. I have to hold in my cry of pain. I can't make anything loud enough to be noticed or heard. 

I lay on my back, the damp earth sticks to my skin as I look up at the stars. It's muggy out here, humid. A dense fog engulfs me as I lie still. A fresh stream of tears pour down my face and the salt seeps into my cuts beginning another round of stinging sensations. As my body eases into the slightest bit of relaxation, my eyelids begin to droop from utter exhaustion. I don't want to go to sleep, I can't go to sleep, this is just a short break that I really don't have time for in the first place. When I finally let them shut, my world is submerged in utter darkness and the last bit of light I can remember is a single star.

There is a rude awakening. No, not rude, terrible. I scream as that big hand tangles into my hair and rips me up by my scalp. I struggle, screaming, thrashing. There is no prevail, he's too strong. I attempt to scream some more, but all that comes out is a hoarse animal like cry, not even human. It wouldn't be any use anyways. Nobody but us lives out here in the middle of the woods. My head feels sore, like the skin is being ripped slowly off my head. There's nothing more I can do here, except for cry. Give up and cry.

My face is burning red with scratches, anger and frustration in myself. I can feel the heat of my skin radiating outwards into the cold, wind biting morning. He is no longer tugging at my hair (along with my skull) but rather dragging me by my hand through the woods, my body no longer struggling as I am taken. Without warning, there they are again, two rivers of salty tears that begin to stream down my cheeks. Why?

As we go, perspiration begins to form on my face, the droplets of sweat automatically becoming chilled in the early hours of an autumn morning. The fog has lifted and the sun begins to apprehensively peek into the sky, the moon fading into nothingness. What will become of me when we are to get home? This isn't the first time I've attempted my escape, but the last time... I almost ended up deceased. I can clearly recall the memory, crystal. 

He had whipped me relentlessly that time. I believe I was a girl of around 10. He'd burned me multiple times on the hands and limbs, leaving large scars the size of cigars everywhere on my body. He threw chairs and other things at my head leaving large lumps and purple and yellowy bruises on my skin, there had been red liquid that trickled from my head. My head was in terrible pain, I remember being able to rub my head and when my hand came out from the rats' nest, I would have a tuft of thick black hair. My voice was quite hoarse from crying, and breathing did not come easily. It was like dragging a piece of itchy fabric through something that kept ripping it back and having to tear, just to get it by, a constant tug of war with my lungs. He refused to take me the hospital this time because he didn't know what excuse to use. I remember.

The sun rose in the sky, no longer bashful when we arrived at the small cabin I've lived in for most of my life. It was a three room cabin, with a kitchen, his room and a bathroom. Typically I had to sleep  outside. The small pile of bricks was dark and did not give off your usual warm, welcome home feeling

As soon as we got there, he shoved me to the ground, and I landed on my back, out of breath. On my tattered clothing arrived more stains from the earth. Why? I could already hear the the clinking of his belt unlooping from his pants. Why? The smell of alcohol reeked in his foul breath. Why? More tears begin to slip from my eyes, reminding me of the stinging lashes in my face. Why? My now ocular migraine shows splotches of white everywhere as my head feels like it has begun to implode. All I can do is brace myself.

" Why? Why did you leave, you little bitch? You had no goddamn right. You're my property." His disgusting slime flies out of his mouth and lands on my cheek.  Why?

" I'm sorry," only a soft, frightened whisper at this point. " I'm so sorry, father."