Page 2 of Slaughtered Firefly
Self-harm was appealing, but it wouldn’t help this conversation end anytime sooner. Silence. I sighed, annoyed that he wasn’t taking the bait. I checked my watch, an analogTimexwith a steady beat.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
There went another minute as I continued to run the clock out. The question still unanswered, the person on the phone waiting yet another moment for the reply, not a why did my life go to shit, but a how old was I? I guess I should have known that dear old daddy forgot that special day.
“How old were you when you raped her?” I retorted just as the telling signs of the prison phone took over.
“Your call has ended, thank you for calling Riven State Corrections, please call back between the hours of 8 a.m. and 8 p.m…”
I didn’t bother to let the robotic voice continue its droning monologue. I had heard it forty-five times since Dad entered prison.
The tone was always the same, and it never changed. Why would it? The prison was still the ancient civilization it had always been, with its broken ecosystem of murderers, thieves, and rapists.
Dad just fit all three categories, and prison? His vacation, his kingdom; no one dared to touch Midas in his own backyard.
My emotions exhausted from Midas’ call, I threw the phone against the far wall, hoping it would shatter like the broken pieces of my mind, but annoyed when it only thudded and dropped on the floor.
I screamed out my frustrations, willing myself not to care, not to give in to the one person who was both my kryptonite and salvation. As much as I wanted it to end, he would never loosen the golden chains I was bound by; he would never succumb to my pleas for freedom. Why would he when I was his favorite whore?
A gentle knock on the kitchen door let me know, time to move. I knew this place like the back of my hand, and I would miss watching over the little girl and her nanny, but I lost timetrying to appease Daddy. The cops would soon be here, and I would rather not have my present-making interrupted.
I grabbed the half-cut carcass off the counter, the wide innocent eyes that reflected that little child inside, frozen in death with the most innocent of expressions. Shock.
Twenty-four years ago—she’s six
“Daddy what is going on?Where is Momma?” I asked as I grabbed the pink deer stuffed animal named Penny off the couch.
“You don’t have to worry about that right now, just focus on me,” he said with a slur to his words.
I was itchy, and my eyes hurt. My throat was raw, as if I hadn’t had my juice before bed, but that can’t be right because Daddy brought me my juice.
Daddy’s rough, calloused hand was on my shoulder as he dragged me through the back door towards the shed. The rain poured down, soaking me and Penny as I struggled to keep up with Daddy.
“Momma said we can’t go to that shed ever, why aren’t we listening to Momma?” I questioned as I tried to pull away from Daddy’s grip, almost slipping free. Something wasn’t right, but in my sleepy state, I didn’t know just how wrong things were as I slipped once again on the muddy path.
“Just listen to me sweetheart, it will all be alright.” He stooped, kissing my head before tossing me over his shoulder as we closed in on the shed. I dropped Penny and called out only to be smacked firmly on the butt. Tears welled in my eyes at the lost toy, and shock filled me at the impact of his smack.
Daddy has never smacked me.Why did Daddy change?
His grip tightened as I struggled against his burly side. The sky boomed with thunder, and I yelped out.
“I don’t like the rain, I want momma.” I cried out, but my wails were of no use.
Daddy smelled funny, and my nose crinkled. I rubbed my eyes trying to clear the tears from behind them, but it didn’t work. They continued to pour out as our steps got closer. My hands felt sticky despite the rain, but as darkness crept in, I was so scared.
The lightning sparked against a nearby tree, and as the flash of light reached my eyes, I saw my hands for the first time since I’d woken.
Red paint clung to my tiny fingertips. DidI paint earlier?
I squirmed against Daddy only to be smacked harder.
“Daddy that hurts!” I wailed, more tears falling.
“Don’t worry darling, I will make it all better soon.” His voice was sweet, like Daddy’s voice always was, and part of my worry lessened, coaxed by the softness in his voice.
The old wooden boards groaned with the weight of Daddy as he stepped up to unlock the shed. He fumbled with the key ring, unsure which as the icy rain continued to pound my head. I was cold, wet and sleepy.Why was I so sleepy?
The key found its home in the lock, and the door swung open.
