Fighting For The Individuals

Ch. 1

Everything around me fading back into motion, as I hear my father cursing, seeing a broken beer bottle in his right hand. "You little shit! You think it's okay to be dressing up like a little girl Jospeh! Wearing dresses and makeup, losing your masculinity!" He was lowering the bottle, close to my face, his facial expression an ugly scowl. I tried to shield my face, crying out in surprise as I shifted in the glass of the shattered mirror he had shoved me into. Right when he was about to smash his broken beer bottle on my head, my mother, Rose, walked into the room and stopped in her tracks as she covered her mouth in shock. I weakly sat up and felt the pain more in my hands as the glass drove into my skin. I began to bleed from the palm of my hand, as i attempted to get up from the floor. "What are you doing to our daughter?" Tears streamed down her face. "Daughter?"' Father said. He looked down at me in disapproval. I looked up at him, my hair falling in front of my face. I was afraid he was going to hit me again, but he didn't. Instead, my mother ran up to my father and pushed him against the wall, where the mirror once was. He wrapped his hands around her neck.She struggled to escape his grasp. "Get. The. Phone... Jill..." She managed to choke out as she pushed her hands up against my dad, trying to push him off. I got up and ran for the phone, as I dialed 9/11 in panic. "My father...he's abusing us---" I cried. "Please send help... immediately."

Everything else went by as a blur. All I remember is the screaming and shouting of my father he kept saying he didn't hit us, even though I had blood stains on my dress and my mother was also bruised. I saw the Police take my father into the car, as my mother just sat there with her hands over her head. The police took him away. I lay on the stretcher in the ambulance, as a young man with messy, bleach blonde hair, and glasses was stitching up my open wounds from my father's bottle. Slowly I began to lose my hearing and soon I was not able to see. The bright ambulance ceiling lights were now dim and faded, and the once clear sound of the repeating siren was distorted. I tried hard to stay awake, struggling to keep my eyes open.