Depressions Demon

Part 4

Before they came, I was smiling. On the outside? No. But I knew this was the only time I would be alone and happy. Before they came, I was at peace, with myself, and with my fate.

I couldn't see them, but I knew. It was like they had a tracker on me. Whenever I leave the house, they find me, they hunt me down. I could run away, sprint down the hill, retreat to a world. But I couldn't. My body wouldn't move. It was like every time they were there, they cast a spell on me. A spell to make me not move, to say nothing. I don't think it was fear, because you run away from fear, as far as you can. Maybe it was the thought of being embarrassed, but then why could I not move? Why could I not move to run away?!

You can see them now, their hair, faces, the crown above the leader's head. I thought I was hallucinating, but it was a crown. A plastic crown, painted gold with red and blue crystals reflecting the sun, blinding me. Another reason to hate him. He was cocky. Always thought everyone one on his side. And they were, but only because he has money. In this world, money means power. And he had all the power in the world.

None of them spoke. No giggles, laughs, nothing. They were giving me the silent treatment, shutting me out by doing nothing. It was the worst punishment anyone could give you. It makes you small.  You start to close in on yourself. It makes you nothing.

They circled around me. Again, it was becoming a tradition. It was to trap me, to make sure I wouldn't run away. I couldn't anyway, I was paralyzed, stuck, frozen in place. From the corner of my eye, I could see the leader, and some of his minion, collecting leaves, twigs, grass. Why? Where they going to make a mud pie with me?

No, I was the mud pie. They threw the leaves on me, creating a base, a clean canvas. They began laughing. At me. Throwing more and more things on me. They began throwing rocks. bruising my back, cutting my legs. He pulled my hair, dragging me out on the pile of leaves and grass on the floor. It hurt, but it was nothing I wasn't used to. You remember the pain after a while. The shooting pain of your hair being pulled. It bring you back to life, back to reality.

He started kicking me, using this football boots to impale me, wound me deeper. They all joined in. I wished and wished they would end it there. Either stop, or it would stop itself. Unfortunately, it didn't.

My eye was black, lip bloody, stomach bruised and bleeding. The had gone. I couldn't remember them fleeing, hoping no one saw them. They had knocked me unconscious. How would I hide this from mum? How could I come home, walking fine, with clean clothes and no pain? How can I hide my life from her? She doesn't need this in her life. She deserves joy and laughter. And money. My life was hell, but she's the only one who doesn't know. The only one I have been able to hide it from. And it will stay that way. I will wear all the makeup in the world if it will hide these scars. And that did.

She embraced me in her arms when I came home. She thought nothing had happened. She thought I was fine. That's what happens when you're a good actor, when you can change your emotions and thoughts in the presence of someone else. And I will do this happen every day. Every month, year, and every time she looks at me, she will see joy.