A/N: WARNING: This story is brutal. If you cannot handle family abuse and trauma please do not read this story. Any relation of this story and it's characters to anyone real is unintentional. If you do read it please leave a comment, I like feedback. And if you like it feel free to look up my other works. They are unfinished, but I update at least once a month. Thank you.
My tale is a bleak one, but it is one that I must convey. For this will be my only biography, written to, hopefully, free me from this nightmare.
I grew up on a small farm in the countryside with my parents and six siblings. We attended the only school in the area, which held classes for all grades. I, the eldest daughter or the family, was in my tenth year. I had found myself content that year; the prior had been marred by my parents' divorce. My mother's mental state had deteriorated greatly; she was consequently unable to obtain custody of my siblings and me.
Though his job required him to be absent for short lengths of time, he failed to return home one evening and I quickly became concerned. My fears were validated when the next day his lifeless body was discovered in an alleyway. The authorities claimed that he had been a victim of a mugging gone wrong, but I knew better than to believe it had just been a random act.
Before long we were turned over to our mother, and it quickly became clear that she had come unhinged. As the oldest child and caregiver, I knew that I had to remain strong and protect my siblings from her madness. No amount of mental fortitude could have prepared me for what was to come; that became clear from the first night.
Mother announced that we would no longer be attending school, but would instead remain within the confines of the house. One by one she led us to separate rooms and locked the doors behind her. For a week I remained trapped, the door only opening to allow what passed as food to be deposited inside. Then one day no food came, and I was left with nothing by my thoughts, which had long since been plagued with despair.
That night the screams started; I was awoken by the distant sound of my youngest sister's cries for help. Without a second thought I slammed my body into the door until the old hinges gave way to the groaning wood; damaging my arm in the process. The door fell with a loud thud and I scrambled to my feet and sprinted down the hall.
When I reached my sister's room, and processed what I saw, I nearly retched; the scene was unbearable. I gazed at my sister lying bloody on the floor, the life quickly fading from her. My mother stood over her clenching a blood-soaked baseball bat; a grim smile twisted on her face. With no concern for the weapon my mother wielded, I lunged to my sister's side. Her breath was hoarse and I could tell she was losing her battle to live. With great effort she turned her head to see me. I was too shocked and angry to cry.
Suddenly, I heard the bat fall to the floor and hands grabbed me from behind, yanking me away from my sister. I fought bitterly – biting, punching, kicking, pulling, and was finally released. I looked up, panting, just as my mother swung at me. I tried to dodge the blow, but was knocked onto my back. My mother pinned me and beat me until I was too weak to move. I had failed.
Without mobility, I could only watch in horror as she again started to beat my sister with the bat. For far too long my sister's raspy cries and pleas for help filled my ears. She reached for me, her eyes begging me to make it stop, to protect her. Yet still, I couldn't move. That pain hurt far worse than the physical trauma my mother had inflicted on me. I began to feel blood dampening my hair. Was it hers or mine? I screamed in agony and frustration. Begging my mother to stop, but she only smiled and continued swinging.
When the last trace of life had left my sister and her suffering was over, my mother left the room and called to someone. A man entered the room and picked me up. With what little energy I had left I struggled to break free, but to no avail. As I was carried from the room, I kept my eyes on my sibling. Her lifeless eyes watching me, her mouth open in a scream that would never be heard, and her face frozen in fear and pain. Her name was Rose, she was five.