Saturday, December 13, 2008

hit her with the buckle

her infraction was not exactly major, but the young girl knew what the consequences would be. her mother's non stop berating started from breakfast. when she returned home from school, head facing the ground, it continued. the dinner table was a cold war zone, eyes flashing back and forth, implied threats lingering in the air.

she knew her mother told her father, and would sic him on her, using the full force of her fury to work him up into a rage state like her own.

she was ordered to go to her bedroom. she could hear her mother's voice..."hit her with the buckle, hit her with the buckle, growing more intense with each utterance.

her father entered her room and closed the door. he ordered her to pull down her pants. she felt shamed, violated. her face reddened, her self dropped beneath the floor, with her pants and underwear. she could feel her father's eyes burning as they stared at her naked buttocks.

her mother continued her buckle mantra.

her father hit her with the belt, not the buckle, not particularly hard. she screamed and cried, hoping this would satisfy her mother's blood lust.

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greetings! i have managed to incorporate my eternal woodstock nation spirit with the high tech 21st century world. i am an artist/writer, who dabbles in rhyme, and, sometimes, reason. my passions are my husband, who is truly the wind that ruffles my sails, animals rights, yoga...waking up in the morning. i find inspiration in too many things to list, and far too many more to remember. sketching, watercolor painting,poetry and photography are my ways of expressing joy and gratitude. from living with a chronic illness, i have learned the beauty of each day, and treat each as another sun salutation, and another chance.