As The Clock Chimes

Chapter 7: This is why...

She was having another terrible day at school. All she was was a punching bag. She was forced to endure being called slurs by adults and children alike. The only ones that seemed to like her presence were babies. Or, well, children under 6. She didn't know why or how she could easily attract their attention.

They always seemed to trust her without a care in the world. One day, she was stopped by a small group of children she had never met. The way she was interrupted looked like they were family. She was hugged by the leader of the group of five, a small boy. She didn't know why the boy was so keen on asking her to play with them.

She didn't look like the typical teen who plays with children. She looked like the kind of teen who would murder children, yet they seemed to love her. That was only fueling her confusion as she tried to leave the premise of the tennis field. Somehow, the children had dragged her into her confusion. She decided fine; I'll play for only five minutes. She shouldn't have done that.

She was stuck at home, getting yelled at for being 6 minutes and 5 seconds late back home. All she did was have fun, yet she was forced to endure the pain of being yelled at. A pain that she will experience for a very long time.

She had all the time in the world to ponder her fate, as she was stuck inside her room once again. Her room was like a prison cell, or the confinement cells at prisons. She was forced to spend a total of six years of her existence inside that stupid room. That, my friend, is a lot of time. She doesn't remember much of that time, as it was getting repetitive.

Of course, the mind just blocks what it finds repetitive, and so she forgot most of those six years, those times to be forgotten forever. She was forced to live the same day over and over again, just like a slave in the 1700s. She was just a thing that was used to gain more. She was just a tool for her monster of a mother to use.

She was used to it—getting punched, getting cursed with words, being manipulated. She was used to being touched and searched each night. She was used to so many things that she lost the most important thing that made her human. She lost her emotions.

She could fake them, of course; she just didn't feel anything; she was forced to be an actor just so she could fit in with society. She was forced to look at people and fake a sparkle in their eyes; she was forced to smile to learn how to make it seem fully real. She learned to fake emotions so greatly that she fooled herself for years. Even today, she is having trouble knowing if she is faking her emotions or not.

She could be the best actor in the world without even knowing it. But of course, she was used to the treatment, so she was used to her only defense. She was forced to see her parents, slowly treading apart. She was forced to hear that she was still just a tool.

She was forced through so much, yet she still had so much to live for. To this end, she continued living, even though, at the start of each day, she was trying to never wake up. Even though each night she silently cried herself to sleep, She had depression without knowing it. However, a child not above nine years old shouldn't be even feeling a lick of depression, yet she was fully in it.

She was starting to get pretty tired of all the repetitive behavior, all the repetition, and all the acting. She was just a shadow of herself; she had been for years. Acting again and again. She was tired all the time; of course, it's normal; she had to think all the time about being the perfect little girl who was just a tool.

And this is why she was broken; that is why many never believed her story; she was so broken that she couldn't think straight; she couldn't say anything in court; she was terrified. She was terrified that she was but a tool, something that was only to feel pain forever and ever, again and again, the same pain, the same day, the same fear.

This is the most time that can be forgotten at least, in this case, as these six years have been forgotten by the nightmare that never seems to truly have an end for her. All she can do is suffer from the memories so that they can be told, and may she turn the page once and for all.

A/N

We are approaching the end of the biography; we thought it would be around one hundred pages, but surprisingly, it is not.

If you are living, are suspicious, or saw any of these types of behaviors, please report them. No one should live what she has lived; this abuse counted as normal shall be put to an end. And reporting it at the source, will slowly cut at the loop that is normalized abuse.