This is a short story I wrote about a twelve-year-old girl named Katie. It is not real, but still sad.
Katie’s Time
I sit in school, looking at the clock. I begin to believe I am the only one dreading summer vacation, believing that I am the only one wishing I could stay in school all day, all summer, forever. All the kids are making the most of the last few minutes of class. They’re signing yearbooks, getting phone numbers. I sit. I wait for the worst.
The bell rings. I stand, trying not to cry. I had never had to go through a summer like this before, because my mom died last year, at the end of the summer. And my dad had blamed me. He was right, it was my fault. I caused the accident that had killed her.
We were out school shopping. I was so excited, my first year of middle school. When we were driving back from the store, we had been talking about what I expected, about the new school. I was so excited, I accidentally dropped my soda. I got worried, my dad didn’t let us eat or drink in the car, and my mom said it was one exception, as long as dad didn’t find out. He wouldn’t hit me or anything, just get really mad. My mom knew how mad he would get, at both of us, so we stopped at a store to get some cleaner. I waited in the car while my mom ran in. While I was waiting, I saw a man dressed in black leaving the store. I was worried he would come for me, so I curled up in a ball. But he didn’t come for me. I should’ve done something, something to stop the man, but I just watched in horror as he walked far away from the store and pressed a button.
It was on the news the next day. I was. Everyone was amazed by how close I was to the store without being blown to pieces. I was eleven back then. My mom was dead. It was my fault, all of it. If only I hadn’t spilled that soda, if only I had done something to stop the man…
I notice I am crying. I quickly get up and run. I go to get supplies. I get a backpack, some food, and clothes. I am ready.
Until I see who is waiting for me outside. My dad. I gasp, and he drags me to the back of the store. He hits me, hard. He beats me, scratches me, cuts me. Eventually, I pass out.
I wake up. “Too far,” he says, “you have gone too far. Do not run from me, it will only bring more trouble.” I am bruised and beaten and bloody. I will not be able to hide my wounds this time. But no one will see. He is going to lock me here, I think to myself.
And lock me here he does. I wait for him to come, to beat me again. He does not. I am chained to a ring on the wall of the basement. My bag is near the wall. I fall asleep. I only sleep for a few minutes, because I hear something. Dad is back. He had gone to a bar, and now he is back.
I panic. He is drunk, so what will he do now? It will be much worse. And it is. He has a knife in his hand. He also had a plate of food. Mush, really. He watches me eat with my left hand, since my right is chained up, as in my right ankle. I look up. It has been my first bit of food in days.
I dare to speak, though I know punishment will come. “Why, daddy, why are you keeping me here?” “Your fault,” he says, and slaps me hard. “Your fault she is dead.” He raises the knife, and I panic, knowing my life will end now. It does not, it only gives more pain. Daddy stabbed me, stabbed my arm, and dragged the knife down. I was bleeding badly. He throws a roll of paper towels at my head. It hits, feeling strangely hard for paper towels, but I am weak, so it makes sense that it hurts. I put some on my wound. It helps, but not much.
Daddy leaves again. I start to cry. I hear his car leave. I hope he dies, that he gets in a terrible crash because he’s hurt. Hours pass. Eventually it is morning. Daddy has not come home.
At first I am happy. He isn’t here. But then I think, why is he not? If he doesn’t come, no one will find me. I am stuck here.
But Daddy does come back. This time he's mad. He stays upstairs, as if pretending I do not exist. But I know he knows I am still here.
It has been three months. The first shovel of dirt hits the box, while I watch from the sky, relieved of the pain, but gone from this world, forever.
Katie’s Time
I sit in school, looking at the clock. I begin to believe I am the only one dreading summer vacation, believing that I am the only one wishing I could stay in school all day, all summer, forever. All the kids are making the most of the last few minutes of class. They’re signing yearbooks, getting phone numbers. I sit. I wait for the worst.
The bell rings. I stand, trying not to cry. I had never had to go through a summer like this before, because my mom died last year, at the end of the summer. And my dad had blamed me. He was right, it was my fault. I caused the accident that had killed her.
We were out school shopping. I was so excited, my first year of middle school. When we were driving back from the store, we had been talking about what I expected, about the new school. I was so excited, I accidentally dropped my soda. I got worried, my dad didn’t let us eat or drink in the car, and my mom said it was one exception, as long as dad didn’t find out. He wouldn’t hit me or anything, just get really mad. My mom knew how mad he would get, at both of us, so we stopped at a store to get some cleaner. I waited in the car while my mom ran in. While I was waiting, I saw a man dressed in black leaving the store. I was worried he would come for me, so I curled up in a ball. But he didn’t come for me. I should’ve done something, something to stop the man, but I just watched in horror as he walked far away from the store and pressed a button.
It was on the news the next day. I was. Everyone was amazed by how close I was to the store without being blown to pieces. I was eleven back then. My mom was dead. It was my fault, all of it. If only I hadn’t spilled that soda, if only I had done something to stop the man…
I notice I am crying. I quickly get up and run. I go to get supplies. I get a backpack, some food, and clothes. I am ready.
Until I see who is waiting for me outside. My dad. I gasp, and he drags me to the back of the store. He hits me, hard. He beats me, scratches me, cuts me. Eventually, I pass out.
I wake up. “Too far,” he says, “you have gone too far. Do not run from me, it will only bring more trouble.” I am bruised and beaten and bloody. I will not be able to hide my wounds this time. But no one will see. He is going to lock me here, I think to myself.
And lock me here he does. I wait for him to come, to beat me again. He does not. I am chained to a ring on the wall of the basement. My bag is near the wall. I fall asleep. I only sleep for a few minutes, because I hear something. Dad is back. He had gone to a bar, and now he is back.
I panic. He is drunk, so what will he do now? It will be much worse. And it is. He has a knife in his hand. He also had a plate of food. Mush, really. He watches me eat with my left hand, since my right is chained up, as in my right ankle. I look up. It has been my first bit of food in days.
I dare to speak, though I know punishment will come. “Why, daddy, why are you keeping me here?” “Your fault,” he says, and slaps me hard. “Your fault she is dead.” He raises the knife, and I panic, knowing my life will end now. It does not, it only gives more pain. Daddy stabbed me, stabbed my arm, and dragged the knife down. I was bleeding badly. He throws a roll of paper towels at my head. It hits, feeling strangely hard for paper towels, but I am weak, so it makes sense that it hurts. I put some on my wound. It helps, but not much.
Daddy leaves again. I start to cry. I hear his car leave. I hope he dies, that he gets in a terrible crash because he’s hurt. Hours pass. Eventually it is morning. Daddy has not come home.
At first I am happy. He isn’t here. But then I think, why is he not? If he doesn’t come, no one will find me. I am stuck here.
But Daddy does come back. This time he's mad. He stays upstairs, as if pretending I do not exist. But I know he knows I am still here.
It has been three months. The first shovel of dirt hits the box, while I watch from the sky, relieved of the pain, but gone from this world, forever.
