My little fort . . .

The moment I was born,

He caressed me in his arms,

Crying, kissing my tiny forehead,

Proclaiming to the world –

“Oh, my beautiful angel!”

He was my hero – and I didn’t look beyond.

My life was him, and his life was me.

 

He held my tiny fingers and led me to kindergarten,

He brushed my hair and sang me lullabies,

He made me toast and gave me baths,

He took me to church and brought me whatever I asked.

He was my hero – and I didn’t look beyond.

My life was him, and his life was me.

 

As the years fell away like the late winter dawn,

His caresses grew more loving, more caring.

It wasn’t kisses to my forehead anymore, but kisses to the cheek.

His embrace longer, like two bodies destined to meet.

The pinches to my hips, the cupping of my lips,

He still loved dressing me up,

But more so – he loved dressing me down.

He was my hero – and I didn’t look beyond.

My life was him, and his life was me.

 

His kisses to the cheeks spilt over to the lips now,

His caresses almost entirely to my bosom and nowhere beyond,

He hugged me from behind, and bit my neck, in jest, he said,

He made his fingers into little soldiers, and ran it through my thighs,

The fort is being attacked, take cover, he cries.

He tears the veils and pledges his soldiers to battle,

Take cover in that tiny hole, hide like a herd of cattle.

And, so the little soldiers took cover in the fort,

In my fort.

“You have the most beautiful fort in the world” he said.

That made me giggle.

He was my hero – and I didn’t look beyond.

My life was him, and his life was me.

 

He died when I was 10,

I was unconsolable;

I went for nights crying my heart to cinder,

I tried joining him – but, never to flames could I surrender.

So, I lived on – for him.

Twenty now, and I know just how,

My little fort wasn’t breached anymore,

In my voiceless silence, I cried,

My soul torn to shreds, my body left in tatters,

By the man I loved the most.

Once upon a time.

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Child Abuse: Dark is Beautiful

Day#3 of the VIBGYOR CBC challenge.
B for Brown.

Today was the day I was waiting for. I have been waiting for this day for 10 long months. In a few hours, a child would be born to two amazing parents. A beautiful baby. Gorgeous dark chocolate brown skin, and jet black hair. Beautiful dark brown eyes. Yes, an angel. I don’t know how they would name it yet, but, she was my favorite baby already. The one I was waiting to caress with so much of love and care.

The past ten months were excruciating. Life for the little one was far from perfect. When her father first heard the news, he had flared up in anger. He wasn’t happy.

“You whore! Who the hell did you sleep with?” he had screamed.

And, then he beat her. Slapped her on her cheeks so hard, that it bled.

She started screaming in pain. In agony.

“I don’t want your baby, you bitch!” he moved threateningly towards her with an iron rod. It was brown, it had a tinge of rust on it.

She cried. She pleaded. She fell on his feet. Asking him to spare the baby.

He smiled. A cunning smile. His wife was at his mercy now. He sneered. Menacingly.

“Never . . . you swine. I don’t want the baby now. Abort it, or I will myself do it” he screamed.

Things changed after that. The dad, he never changed though. Everyday he would come home, drunk, carrying one of his brown bottles of wine. He would swear at his wife, and threaten to kill her and the baby together.

And, everyday he abused her more and more. Assaulted her with the iron rod again.

Just because she loved her baby so much, she had not shot back at him in any way. The baby, she needs to know her father. She can’t be born without a dad, she had reasoned to herself. The pain of being born without a father, was something she had faced. And she didn’t want her baby to suffer the same fate.

Things were always at a tipping point, but, somehow these months had passed.

The baby used to love listening to her mom sing lullabies. She used to giggle, and laugh and tickle her mom with her feet. She loved playing with her mom. She loved, and adored her mom to the core. She was impatient. She wanted to be born soon. She had an ultimate wish. She wanted to hold her beautiful mom’s hand.

***

Finally, she was born. I was excited. The baby . . . my baby, my angel would be in safe hands. She would be brought up to be an amazing woman, charming, and confident. I smiled.

There she was . . . my beautiful angel. And, just how I wished she would be.

Dark chocolate brown skin, and dark brown eyes. Jet black hair. Tiny, cute feet, and hands . . . so delicate. She looked perfect.

The doctors were happy. “She looks beautiful” they said. “Just like her father”.

The mom was happy, and content. She smiled “Ennanga, She looks just like you”.

The dad was not happy.

Dark chocolate brown skin. Black. Monster.

Back home, he beat his wife again. “You bitch, I had asked you for a white boy, and you have given me a black girl monster! Go to hell” he said.

He smashed her head with the iron rod. One single shot. And her head had split open spewing blood and brains right out.

“Now . . .for the baby” he sneered.

***

It was raining. The moist, brown earth was freshly dug up.

There were two bodies found inside.

The neighbors had heard the commotion, and rushed to their house. They had grown tired of it all. But, it was too late.

The mother’s body was found. The baby’s body was found too. Her head was crushed beyond recognition.

The neighbors piled the bodies on top of each other, and covered the pit with mud.

The baby’s ultimate wish was satisfied. She was holding her mom’s hand in hers. Finally.

***

Tears were flowing down my cheek. This incident, it broke my heart. I felt a feeling worse than death.

“God?” an angel came to my side.

I wiped my tears. My voice was breaking. “Ye . . .Yes?” I said.

“Are you crying?” she asked with concern.

I smiled weakly. “N. . . Not much” I said.

She came close to me, and gave me a hug.

That did it. That was the tipping point. I cried and I cried and I cried. I cried for the world that I had created. I cried at the monsters I had created. I cried at the poor angels that I had created. I cried that my dear world was turning into hell.

“I want to quit” I said.

“Cmon God, you can’t do that. There is another baby that we need to send to the world. Please come. It’s getting late.”

I wiped my tears away.

Images of the headless mom and child flashed past my mind.

My heart stopped beating.

And, I died.

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