Year 11 Narrative
During the fall of my 11th year, I was adopted by my second family along with little Leo. They were horrible to us, out of the 6 I was the eldest. All of us crammed together, Them barely having enough for all of us. Well, that's a lie, They had enough, just didn't want to share. They, I could never bring myself to refer to Them as anything other than They, didn't care about us. All They cared about was the paycheck. I took on the role of the mother. I made sure that everyone got enough food to last, kept them safe from the wrath of Them. They fed us with enough for a family of 3, and most of the time myself, along with the next eldest, would go without most meals just so the younger ones could. We would all sleep together on yoga mats on the
…show more content…
To this day I still don’t know what sparked the incident. It started out as a normal day, but there was an unexpected visit from the agency. The man was having a fit of rage over something that the woman said, and was ready to strike. It was almost impossible to tell when he would become physical. One moment he would be yelling and hollering, and the next he would bound toward the closest child and strike them. He often wouldn’t stop until the child was bloody and passed out. I tried to take the majority of his beatings, often times shielding the others. This seemed to always make him angrier and he would often fracture my bones. On this particular occasion, he was about to strike the youngest who was only 4. She didn’t understand completely yet that crying only made things worse. I steeped in front of her, only getting there after he had already hit her once. His next blow made my vision go blurry. I stumbled against the wall, in the process knocking a photo askew. His eyes glinted and I went stiff with fear. That glint was a new thing, turning his reptilian eyes to those of a predator. He grabbed my own and brought his fist down. The force knocked me down and still he did not let up. My eye was swollen up, I could barely keep it open. At this point, he was no longer hitting me, but kicking me. He kicked my face, my arms, my ribs and hips. Anywhere that his blows could land. I swallowed a scream, I wouldn’t give him the
To this day I still don’t know what sparked the incident. It started out as a normal day, but there was an unexpected visit from the agency. The man was having a fit of rage over something that the woman said, and was ready to strike. It was almost impossible to tell when he would become physical. One moment he would be yelling and hollering, and the next he would bound toward the closest child and strike them. He often wouldn’t stop until the child was bloody and passed out. I tried to take the majority of his beatings, often times shielding the others. This seemed to always make him angrier and he would often fracture my bones. On this particular occasion, he was about to strike the youngest who was only 4. She didn’t understand completely yet that crying only made things worse. I steeped in front of her, only getting there after he had already hit her once. His next blow made my vision go blurry. I stumbled against the wall, in the process knocking a photo askew. His eyes glinted and I went stiff with fear. That glint was a new thing, turning his reptilian eyes to those of a predator. He grabbed my own and brought his fist down. The force knocked me down and still he did not let up. My eye was swollen up, I could barely keep it open. At this point, he was no longer hitting me, but kicking me. He kicked my face, my arms, my ribs and hips. Anywhere that his blows could land. I swallowed a scream, I wouldn’t give him the