Misty Rose

When I was a baby and my dad was around, we were a happy family. Dad brought all the money in as mom stayed home with me. We were all happy, until that night...I was six years old as of this day and my dad was just getting home from work. He was mad; this was the first time I had seen him act this way. He pushed my mom onto the ground and came after me; we were in the kitchen getting ready for dinner when this happened. I didn’t understand then, so I just stood there watching him, and let his fist hit my face. I did cry out in pain but that’s when he started yelling, saying everything was my fault, that I was a spoiled brat and should have never been born.

Because of that first blow I was on the floor, which was when he started kicking me, breaking a couple of ribs. Soon he grabbed me by my dress and lifted me to his six-foot two height, so we were eye to eye and he continued to yell. Then he took out a serrated knife from a cabinet, pinned me to the island on my stomach, and stabbed me in the back. He dragged the knife from my shoulder blade, almost down to my hip, coming across my spine in a wavy design, taking his time.

When he finished with that, he threw me on the floor, but again I was quickly pinned by my dad. That was when I blacked out from the pain, and from blood loss. The last thing I heard was “Always Blame her! This ....is how it is supposed to be....”