Thank you. Although the piece isn’t completely religous. The God thing is only discussed in a few chapters. Though it is there.
Thanks :D
Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / Die Little Birdy - Part One
Epilogue
Needing to Be Saved
The stars shone down from the heavens upon the estranged teenager. Laying atop a picnic table Genevieve watched the night sky. She imagined the person, who would never come, watching he from so high up. The image her mind conjured showed the person wearing a smile. Yet, the more she thought about it, disappointment would be more realistic. She closed her eyes trying not to think about the ripple of disappointment in her life.
Eleven years ago Genevieve had been only six. A little girl who woke in her room needing to go to the toilet. Unlike other little girls, however, she had felt a sickening feeling as she realised what she would need to do. For her, just a little girl who couldn’t defend herself, leaving her room during the night led to severe punishment. Punishment she felt lucky is she survived.
The night of the incident may have been distant but not the knowledge of what had happened. It always haunted Genevieve the way she had been treated. How her mother had found happiness in what happened every night. Although she was now forever protected all she could do was cry. For her, being protected wasn’t a lot. Not when the memory tore her apart every night and stalked her in the day.
Eleven years ago Genevieve’s feet had touched the carpet. Soft, warm and delicate. It had sung to her that nothing could go wrong. The song was what made the little girl leave the sanctuary of her room. The carpet had welcomed her as she started to walk across the landing towards the toilet. While she had taken four little steps she had felt content. It was as if everything bad in her life had simply melted away.
Genevieve choked back tears coughing slightly. She furiously wiped away the fugitives trying hard not to think about it. She tried, instead, to go back to the person who would be watching her. She attempted to think about her own ‘guardian angel’. The one who had saved her from the memories when the person had been walking this Earth. The willpower it took was immense and soon she gave up as always. The memories taunted her as they continued their onslaught of unhappiness.
Eleven years ago the hairs had stood up on the back of Genevieve’s neck. This six year old ad been so scared as she turned around that she had lost control of her bladder. Yet, she hadn’t realised until later because all that she could focus on was her mother’s eyes. The eyes had been ablaze as they reflected the terror that filled her life.
Genevieve sat up wanting to let the world go. She picked up a bottle and opened the lid. Without any hesitation she lolled her head back. Pouring the drink down as if she was dehydrated, she smiled ever so slightly. The contents flowed into her mouth and ran straight down her throat. The drink mixed with her stomach acids to start the process of getting to her blood stream. She stopped the drinking to gasp for air before allowing a laugh. She felt relieved not having to stop herself doing something that, for her, was as natural as waking up.
Eleven years ago Damara had walked up to Genevieve and slapped her. Right across the face like she, and she alone, had the right. The stinging forced tears to roll down the little girl’s face. But it wasn’t the stinging that remained in Genevieve’s mind all this time. It was the smile upon Damara’s face. For Damara, what she did to Genevieve was like a drug. Something which made her so happy . . . and so deadly.
The alcohol started to seep into the teenager’s bloodstream. As it transported itself around she started to feel disconnected from the world. As time moved on, and more alcohol entered her body, that feeling increased until she truly felt numb. She smiled drunkenly up at the stars hoping that the person wasn’t watching now. She knew it would be heart wrenching for the person.
Eleven years ago Damara had gone into a frenzy. Hands had slapped, fits had collided and nails had at torn at the child’s skin as if it was paper. During this all the little girl had been able to do was hold her hands around her face hoping to protect some part of her. She had been treated like she was nothing more than a doll. Like her existence was only to allow Damara a chance to get on high without taking narcotics. Little Genevieve was Damara’s drug in Damara’s material world.
Her reflexes started to slow as her mind became distant. The alcohol had taken over her entire body. It now ruled her but she didn’t care. It was what she wanted. Alcohol was her friend that allowed her to fall asleep as if nothing mattered. For every time she drank her sleep would not be disturbed by the demons of her past.
Eleven years ago Genevieve had been praying. Begging someone, anyone to make Damara stop. She didn’t just ask God for such a favour because she had learnt to doubt His existence. In her childish mind no God would allow a defenseless child to be beaten and bruised almost every night. She had wanted God to exist. He sounded like a wise and just being. On the other hand, she had never seen how He could by the way she had been treated.
Older and less naive, Genevieve still doubted God’s existence. She had altogether stopped practicing any sort of religion. No more church, no more reading the Bible and no more prays aimed only at God. Nowadays she prayed to anyone who would bother to listen to her plans. The only visible proof that she was once linked to a religion was the cross that dangled around her neck. A present from her true mother, the one that would never abuse her.
Eleven years ago Damara had dropped Genevieve like a child does to her baby doll. The child had hit the carpet hard, with pain jolting through her body. But there was nothing that could be done now. Instead, Genevieve curled up into a little ball trying to protect herself. She did what she could but it was useless because Damara had found a way to make every inch of the child ache. She had been kicked and kicked until Damara heard no more groans. Little Genevieve had fallen into a semi conscious state.
Genevieve’s vision was blurring as he eyes became clogged up with tears. They slowly slid away and off her face. They rested around her but she didn’t mind. She just allowed them to come and then disappear as they pleased. After all, there was nothing she could do but just to let it happen. It was just like the incident that she couldn’t stop no matter how much she had wanted it to.
Eleven years ago Damara had picked up a neary vase and shattered it upon the child. The glass had sprayed all around her mixed in with the cold water. The sudden sharp, coldness had awoken her and she moved ever so slightly hoping it would all be over. All she had wanted was for Damara to walk up the stairs and go to bed as if nothing had happened. She had promised that if Damara did she wouldn’t tell anyone what Damara did to her.
Genevieve laughed remembering that promise. The promise that had shattered into a million pieces resulting in Genevieve never following it. Not that she ever did really follow any promise she made to herself. Just look at what she was doing at the park. She had promised to stop drinking, even stopped for a while, but then she snapped. Reality had smashed into her face like the wall she was thrown into.
Eleven years ago Damara had picked up the little body of her only child. Throwing Genevieve into a wall Damara had laughed. Being a celebrity, every inch of Damara’s life was judged by complete strangers. Damara felt like her future was held by other people. Now was her chance to feel some sort of power as Damara abused her child. This ultimate abuse of power resulted in Genevieve hoping that it would end on that night. She was even happy if the end meant the end of her short life. She was desperate to feel no more pain.
Pain had followed Genevieve all throughout her childhood and into her teens. It seemed her life would always evolve around great emotional and physical pain. Pain that would never cease to find a way to break her. To destroy her, tearing her apart so that all is left is a sobbing teenager clutching a bottle. It was just the way things were for her.
Eleven years ago Genevieve was lying on the floor. The kicking had stopped and she thought she heard Damara walk away. She felt so sore and knew she could take no more abuse that night. Reaching her limit she had begged for it to all end that night no matter how it had to. This six year old had made peace with the fact that she would finally die because of child abuse.
Genevieve gulped the last few mouthfuls wanting that part of the memory gone. She felt like she would do anything to get rid of it. Anything, anything at all. She yearned to be released of all of these memories. She wanted the weight to be lifted off her shoulders. So in the end she could be content with life like other normal teenagers.
Eleven years ago Genevieve could remember flying. It had felt beautiful almost as if she was an angel with golden wings. There was a brief moment when Genevieve had literally been flying. Soaring through the air like she was born to, meant to. She had loved the feeling thinking her life had ended and this was it. This was the ‘otherside’ where she would feel no more pain. She thought she was finally free of her mother’s deadly tempers.
Genevieve shook her head as if she could shake away her childhood. If such a thing could happened she would never have had to go through things she had to. But one cannot simply shake away memories as distrubing as the ones she held. The alcohol, however, was meant to help. Tonight the job wasn’t being done as the knowledge of what happened continued to brutalize Genevieve. For some reason the drink wasn’t doing its job. Maybe she had become tolerant. That idea sent fear wavering through her body.
Eleven years ago Genevieve had come to rest at the bottom of the stairs. The pain had been excruciating as she lay there. Her head felt faint and she kept her eyes closed not wanting to see her maniac mother. She had wondered what would now happen to her. She could remember wanting to be able to cry but she couldn’t. It hurt her too much. Everything did.
Genevieve opened her own eyes noticing the stars looked blurry. She wondered how she had turned into such a person. She used to be able to live with the knowledge of what had happened. Now she relied on alcohol to get her through the night. That was when she used to be abused and made to feel like she was nothing.
Eleven years ago and Genevieve had felt her mother run past her. Damara had a suitcase already packed and it hit the child on Damara’s way out the door. That had shocked the dying child who had never realised her mother was that heartless. Things like this had always happened but, if it was needed, her mother used to call the ambulance. This time was different as Damara left her to die.
God had listened to the child’s pleas.
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Bargo reviewed Version 3 -
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NOT RECOMMENDED for people who don’t read books intended for readers who are 16+!!!!!!!!!!!. If I have not previously and do not now read this book intended for readers who are 16 then how will I know if I appreciate them?
It is a saddening tale of a young abused child who even in her teen years still cannot allow herself to forget and a tale I hope it is for many of us when we write tend to put a little of ourselves into the story
‘Eleven years’ became a little monotonous after a while and I felt the story became disjointed in places. It was swapping from Genevieve on the park bench to as you say eleven years ago and at times made it hard to follow.
Be careful in choosing your words such as ‘For some reason the drink wasn’t doing it’s job. Maybe she had become more tolerant’. Tolerant applies more to beliefs or actions where ‘immune’ would suffice.
The story line is workable. Keep going.
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catherinespark reviewed Version 3 -
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Genevieve was very effective protagonist in your piece and I found this story beguiling. She was aspirational -- looking to the clouds, almost stargazing in a really effective way -- reminded me of the sorrow at the end of adolescence that all things must change and a person must grow.
The transformation that almost overcomes this character as she consumes the alcohol is also an interesting ploy. I loved this, since you clearly understood the importance or potence of this image and symbolic, and your character shone for me.
This was also a really strong religious work, although I felt you should have perhaps foreshadowed here; introduced the presence of God sooner.
Still though, a great start!
Laura
serqua reviewed Version 3 -
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You have a great way with your words. The flow of the story is nice and you can really get into the setting. This is a very sweet piece of work. Looking back into her past the way that she does was brilliantly expressed in your words. I truely believe many people will find enjoyment in this piece. Keep up the good work and I look forward to hearing more of it in the future. You definately have some thing here.
Taemaeri reviewed Version 3 -
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I hope this is just the beginning of something bigger because it leaves to many questions unanswered. What happened to the child after the mother left? Who found the child since her mother did not call the ambulance? What type of celebrity was her mother? as singer, actress, dancer? What drug would make a mother beat her child like that or is it a mental condition? As I stated before I hope this is the beginning of a larger piece. It is a good thing that this introduction left me with questions because it makes me want to read more of your work. I would like to read whether the teen finds peace in her life or if this remains a constant struggle for her.
the_ringer reviewed Version 3 -
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This was an extremely powerful, heart-breaking piece. Child abuse and neglect, whether from a foster parent or not, is SO criminal and psychologically debilitating to the poor children who have to deal with it. This piece really describes the pain and agony that children feel even as young as 6 years old. You have talent.
Curtastrophe reviewed Version 2 -
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I’ve been reading this on the review que as it’s come along but have never “officially” reviewed any of you work. This was however, my favorite of the lot. It speaks to the reader, you writing is tight, succint, and easy to understand. For a young adult novel I think these are the three key ingredients that you have to harness. And you you’ve done it well.
I liked the chorus of “Eleven years” as it brought the reader into realizing what was important. Sometime repetition sucks. In your case, I think you managed to pull it off.
wrtr4evr reviewed Version 2 -
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i liked it very much. theres nothing to really say-it’s all written very well and does not need much changes. the story wrapped me in and i couldn’t stop reading it. very interesting. i liked it. keep on writing. structure is good. there is nothing i would change. keep doing what you are doing! good luck! p.s. genevieve is my middle name!
forgetaboutit reviewed Version 2 -
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That was amazing.
It was very deep and i could not stop reading.
“Eleven years ago” would usualy be repetitive but here it is use well.
The flow of the story was nice. It wasn’t short or choppy.
Overall, I thought it was great. I can’t wait for chapter one.
Good luck with this.
Deon reviewed Version 2 -
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Very poignant…I don’t realy know what to say. Without meaning to ofend, is Genevieve’s story related to personal experience? The prose comes across in a very authentic and realistic fashion. There’s a dreamy, almost hallucinogetic – not sure if that’s a proper word – feel that emantes from the piece.
I admit that, at first, I found your style a bit halting, but, as I read on, the story took over and I kind of felt weaved in.
I think you’ve handled the topic of child abuse very maturely (without meaning to be patronising – I’m only two years older than you). Well done and keep on going…
catherinespark reviewed Version 2 -
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It’s good to find the beginning of this, since I fear I’ve been dancing around the story in the incorrect order, which is wrong of me. The allegorical imagery is established in the beginning which is reminiscent of classic hildren’s book “Skellig” i.e a very good thing.
Parts of the story felt a little to stream-of-consciousness and not overly “authorly” and I thought the narrative might suit a more distanced voice to cope with its introverted nature and strict character-focus.
Laura
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