sshaeky tdoay.

ii wrrote ths aa ffew ddays aago, a ffreind of mmine i said sshuold ttry nnd geet ths stuuf ouut oof mmy haaed my wrtning it. biig triigger wwarning, it''s graphc.

sory iif iit ddoesn't mmake ssense.

--

I looked at the wall, running my hand along the unreadable scribbles that cluttered its dirtied paint. There was only a dim light coming from the old lamp on the table. The air was thick with the stench of some kind of decay and rot. I hummed to myself faintly and I shut my eyes for a moment.

Dad comes down the stairs, I hear the steps creak and I hold my breath. I look over my shoulder and he walks over to me, he’s holding his knife and he smiles as he looks at me. I want to run.

He asks me what I’m drawing but I know he can read the black marker on the white wall. He puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers in my ear that he has a coin in his pocket and he’s going to get it. I don’t move but I see Boop next to me, he doesn’t say anything. He’s just as scared as I am.

He takes the coin out of his pocket and flips it, and he lets it fall to the ground. I try to look at the side facing up but I can’t see. He scoops the coin up, looks at it, and smiles. He throws the coin by the lamp and I tremble in my spot.

Shoving me in the shoulder he knocks me down, although I do little to resist. Boop is in the corner now, he looks at me with his eyes and we both fear. He climbs on me, and he bends over and forces his tongue down the back of my throat, his hands climb up me and I want to scream but I can’t.

Come
Doused in mud
Cept in bleach
As I want you to be
As a trend
A a friend
As a known memory ah
Memory ah
Memory ah
Memory ah

And I swear
That I dont have a gun
No I dont have a gun
No I dont have a gun
(Nirvana)

I say the words over and over to distract from him, from what he does to me. He shoves it into me from behind; he makes me fall forward and laughs. He plays the song and I repeat the words over and over again until he hits me for talking. He runs his dirty hands all over me and I feel him touch me. He reaches for the knife, he cuts my hands a little. He makes me turn around, and he stands up, he makes me rub my bloody hands over it. He likes it, he spills on the floor. I want to cry but I see Boop there still. He grabs my head and pushes it to the floor; he makes me lick it up. I stand up, he pushes me back down and rubs himself all over me again. I lie in the corner and he gets up, he puts his clothes on and turns around.

I stay in the corner for a bit, I can’t move, but I crawl over to my pants and put them on quickly, I put my shirt on too. I look at my bloody hands and make my handprint on the dirty wall, I write in my blood and watch it stick to the white.

Boop is there and he says nothing. I write his name on the wall and I say it over and over again.

<font color="purple">(((((((((((Ledge))))))))))
If I had to pick a word to describe how horrific that was for your father to do, and how sorry I feel that you had to go through such an event, then I would have to invent a new English dictionary. I don't know if my words aren't of much use in such a time of turmoil, but it's the best I can do.

I'm still here for you, and always will be </font>