As The Clock Chimes

Chapter 2: Repetition

As the days went by, the small girl was still forced to live the same routine over and over again. She was in hell; she was living what we would call the life of an adult, but she was only 5 years old. She was one of the very few children in the world, in a place where a child had everything, only for it to be taken away by the mother, by the monster hiding under her bed.

Once she was five, an unknown time had passed, and a strange fellow that lived next door would give her cookies. That stranger was an old man with a dark, dark past. But of course, being a child, she didn't know anything; she didn't know files reported to the police or what a crime was. To that end, she went each day into the man's house, living five steps away from their backdoor. She would get chocolate chip cookies; they were handmade, and they were delicious. She was almost six when she was told to never go into the area in front of the neighbor's house. She didn't know why, as she was a simple child.

She didn't understand at first, but sadly, the kind old man who gave many stories—tales of wonder, of fights, of love and peace—was a pedophile. She wondered for years upon years what a pedophile was, having no access to an iPod or anything of the sort. She was 12 when she learned what a pedophile was, that she understood what the word meant, and what title it gave to the person. But again, we are getting carried away; she was now not allowed near the one person who gave the child attention. What any normal child needs is attention, love, and care. What the monster didn't, no, never gave the girl. The only love she would get would be about never doing anything in the house to help—anything to clean, cook, or even that she should be dead.

She was called by many names: useless, waste of space, dumbass, something, it, whatever. Why did I even carry you to terms? Why are you not a boy? Why are you not like me? Why are you always silent? These are but a few of the names she recalls. What strange names indeed! As time went by, about two months before Christmas, they had to move out again, and so the old man was locked away, only to be remembered in her adulthood. Once she was out of the old and in with the new, she met a new girl, almost the same age as her. They became "friends," if that's the right word.

She doesn't recall much of her sixth to eighth years, but she does remember a lot of yelling, slapping, pain, and sadness. And there are even a few strange scars that are yet to be healed on her frail body. Her memory fades as time chimes. Trauma can do wonders for locking away undesired memories; it must be for the best, as she remembered some that should have been forgotten. Once again, we got carried away, and she played a lot with the new girl. Once, as she recalls, the only memory she had at this time was her friend showing her cat away to the girl. She was so happy she dropped it, in hopes that the girl on the ground floor was going to catch the small bundle of life called a kitten. But of course, a hauling kitten falling from the third floor is a little hard to catch, and so the kitten fell onto the bedrock. The kitten was fine, but did go crazy. That is quite understandable, as the fall will cause broken bones or even gray matter in humans as well.

The poor kitten had gone insane, understandable from the height the poor kitten had befallen. The cats never quite liked the little girl who threw the kitten out the third floor ever again, but as much later in life, they shall meet once again. But that is another story, for another time. At a time when this was all forgotten, as we were creating this story, she started to remember much more of her childhood, something that shocked the both of us, as this book seemed to have unlocked some uncherished memories so that they could only be told now and not sooner or later. What an intriguing way the brain can work at times! Of course, we are getting carried away once more, as we shall get back on track.

The little girl will forever remember the days where she was pained the most, as the brain does make things forgotten, but things such as trauma are something that will forever scar the brain, the one organ that cannot heal on its own. The one thing that makes up the human being is scarred for life. As all this pain is but a start to this story, she still has much to live. There is much more to experience and much more pain to feel. This little girl is in hell.

But as the days went by, the same routine repeated: getting yelled at, doing chores such as washing dishes, getting cut by big knives, to only then take care of her little bundle of joy, her little brother. She still loved her father, as he was still trying to give her attention and care when he was there. He was always mad, though, but only when he finally made it home. Well, it's simple: that monster lied over and over again about things she did, blaming it all on the older sibling. A child about 6 and a quarters shouldn't be the one to watch a child about two months old. Once she was six, on her birthday, she was forced to go to another hell, called school. But sadly, that's a story for another time, as the next one is frigid. As she remembers, the first hell she lived in was called kindergarten. Something that, again, will be for another day.

A/N

I thank you all for the feedback. This story is hard to write as the memories of the person are getting into shambles. I completely understand, as this is a very hard topic to talk about.

Again, this story does not have a schedule for update times. I thank you for even giving it a simple glance or a small survey. A read is something I cannot thank you enough for, as this is a story that is to be shared.

Please seek help. If any of the descriptions are what you are living or have lived, suicide is not the exit; talking about it will hurt. Remembering everything will make you even stronger, but it will also make you a little bit stronger. Yes, there will be hardships, and yes, you will feel like you are failing and not succeeding, but I can tell you that it's working; you are slowly turning the page.