Page 1 of Massacre
Prologue
TRIGGER WARNING:This chapter contains a graphic representation of sexual assault and the physical and mental abuse of a minor from multiple assailants. If you suffer from any triggers, PLEASE, PLEASE, take extreme caution before reading this chapter. Your health is more important to me than my fictional story.
October 31, 2012, Age 16...
The only good thing that ever came out of Tuscumbia, Alabama, was Helen Keller, a woman who went down in history as one of the 20th century’s leading advocates for disabled individuals.
As for me, the only thing I advocated for was myself.
I had no recollection of my mother. Nothing. My first memory was just of me and my father. I wouldn’t call him father of the year; hell, I really didn’t want to call him anything, but he was there. He provided a roof over my head and food in my belly. I’d been told that dogs are treated better than the way he treated me, but what did I know?
What I did know was that after what happened the night I turned sixteen, I was done.
It wasn’t a typical sweet-sixteen party. I’d heard girls at school talk about them. How fun they were. Not that they would confide in me about trivial things like that. I really wasn’t the sociable type. Sure, I would have loved a friend to talk to—what teenage girl wouldn’t—just not one of them. Why? Well, I didn’t like the way they all looked at me. Like I was wounded and broken. A part of me knew they could see beyond the dark,vacant eyes, the worn clothes, the bruises to the heart of my problem. Not that anyone cared to even ask. Not even a teacher.
No, I was that one girl everyone was polite to but never cared enough to help.
It was any other night. After eating dinner, my father handed me a present. I didn’t need to ask what it was. I already knew. He’d been gifting me similar items since I was twelve and started my period. According to my father,‘if I was old enough to bleed, then’... well, you know.
Like every other time he gifted me new lingerie, I went upstairs to put it on. Once presentable, I headed back downstairs to find that my father had invited two of his friends to help celebrate my birthday, and that’s when I knew this birthday was different.
As the night wore on, my father and his friends were relentless as they drank and used me for their own gratification. The more they drank, the rougher they got, until they no longer cared about taking turns. I had long stopped participating, as I had become complacent about their pleasure until something inside me snapped. It was almost as if all the warmth in the world evaporated and the color faded. There was no more life inside me.
After my father’s friends left, I remembered ignoring the pain as I walked back upstairs to take a shower. The second I felt the hot water scald my body, a darkness coiled deep, like a viper getting ready to strike, and I knew this would be the last time I ever allowed my father to touch me.
I’d had enough. After my shower, I got ready for bed, never letting on what I had planned. As I climbed into bed, I didn’t stop my father from using me one more time for his pleasure, knowing that eventually he would be satisfied and pass out. The second he did, I slipped from the bed we shared and went to thekitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find, then returned to our bedroom.
Slipping into our bed, I climbed on top of him, laying the knife beside him while I slowly ground myself against his flaccid cock. I knew the friction would awaken him. And like a moth to a flame, he did. As he stirred, I felt his hands on my hips as he tried to stick his dick inside me once more. I just straddled him, grinding myself over him until his dick slipped inside me for the last time. Leaning forward, my hand reached for the knife as I continued to grind his cock deeper. I pressed my lips to his ear and whispered, “This is the last time you will ever touch me.”
With that, I plunged the knife deep into his heart. Sitting there, straddling him, with his dick still inside me, I watched as the life drained from his eyes and felt nothing.
No remorse, no pity, just a cold, empty void.
I had become a shell, devoid of emotion.
When the last flicker of life faded from his eyes, I climbed off him for the last time and showered once more, as I tried to wash away years of torment and abuse that stained my soul. Though I was pretty sure nothing I or anyone did would remove the stain.
No, it was just something I would have to learn to live with.
I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water run cold before I finally stepped out and got dressed. Logically, I knew I needed to leave, to disappear, but I didn’t care. I packed a small bag, taking what I needed, then headed downstairs in search of cash. My father really didn’t believe in banks, but what I found wasn’t much, knowing he preferred to spend his money on lingerie and beer. Still, I took what I found before looking around at the only house I’d ever known one more time. This house and my life felt like a cage, its peeling wallpaper an oppressive reminder of the countless nights spent scared shitless, knowing that any minute he would want to play husband and wife.
Never again.
I walked out the front door with my head held high and never looked back despite the suffocating weight of my history pressing down upon me as I walked into the unknown.
Helen Keller had her resolve, and I had mine.
Though mine was forged in a far darker place.
As I made my way through the town of Tuscumbia, with its faded charm and whispered secrets that only the brave or the foolish dared to uncover, I was reminded that this town and its people never cared for someone like me. Even though every corner of this godforsaken town seemed to hide the echoes of its historical tapestry woven within threads of triumph and tragedy, my own thread had long frayed and unraveled with each passing moment.
Tonight, I took back what was taken from me.
Tonight, my life started anew.
2013-2018, Age 17-21...
The first year of my new life was a struggle, but I survived. I traded the hell of my father’s abuse for the harsh reality of life on the streets. I learned quickly that the streets offered no solace for a girl like me. I was alone, but I preferred it that way. I kept to myself, moving from one abandoned building to the next, always one step ahead of those who might do me harm.
