Mummy

She rips her teeth into a slice of buttered toast. In my room I cower. Waiting. Waiting for her commands. The television blares downstairs. I hear murmuring voices chanting together, easing my thoughts, easing my mind. A sudden deep growl, sounding like a lion, echoes my name. First softly like gentle patters of rain and then changing into a large scream, like thunder dominating its prey.1

I shadow cautiously down the stairs. I wish it were an everlasting staircase so I would never have to look into those menacing eyes again. I snap out of my trance due to her repetitive drone, reverberating off the walls. Bits of crust moulded with saliva, are spat out of her hole. I know it is time, I had just hoped for a little bit longer, until it all had to begin.2

My name is Michael and I am 10yrs old, born on September 10th 1995. At night I tremble with fear wishing that my mummy wouldn’t hurt me again. She doesn’t mean to. She loves me really. She is just such a short-tempered person and she says I am uncontrollable. I don’t mean to make her mad, but I never understood what I did wrong. I just wanted her to hug me like she does with my brother. I am not like him for I am ugly and timid. I didn’t use to be ugly, but what love mother once gave me, drove her into an unimaginable state of hatred. So now I am her monstrosity. Her punch bag.3

The last step forces me into the dimly lit room. All around me I am surrounded by enclosed walls. As I look around they seem to be creeping closer to me. I can almost feel the striped wallpaper brushing my skin, waiting to engulf me. 4

She slashes her hand across my ice-cold cheek, but no pain erupts, as I am use to the treatment. No tears roll down my cheeks as this makes her more ambitious to beat me harder. I am oblivious of what I have done, but that doesn’t stop her from tossing me around like an old shoe. 5

I stand there like a block of coal, in a statue manner. Gazing at those threatening eyes. I stand there and hear her abuse to me, “You were a mistake. You’re a dam thorn in my side. Not even worthy of being called a human being!” 6

I feel her hands clasp tightly around my frail shoulders and shake me till my neck almost breaks. Her words use to cut me like a knife. Piercing through my skin and sending unimaginable pain to my heart, but not anymore.7

Now, it doesn’t matter to me. I haven’t eaten for days and all that my mind is concentrating on is food. I know her words are only the drink talking. So I patiently wait there, let her carry on, for I dare not stop her.8

She wipes her hand across her forehead, removing the beaded sweat upon her brow. Her lips purse into a tight lock and I stand there and wait. I wait for her next attack, her next whipping, and her next strike.9

Coming closer her breath smells musty and of ale. She bawls and yells at me and screams ugly words. Once again she starts to shake me. To make me pay attention,  (to try to make me cry), but I am not going to give in, I won’t give her the satisfaction. 10

My family are useless. Father is dead and brother is Mr Perfect and couldn’t possibly get in mummy’s way. He used to try and help, but once mother nearly struck him down and he has since never returned to help my whimpering cries. He sits there and stares watching me being tortured. Staring at my shuddering body until she finally stops beating me.11

I feel nauseous and my legs are weak! Then it flies and plunges into my side. A knife, she has stabbed me with a knife. Grabbing anywhere to stop the pain. I try to call for help. Her screeches of laughter surround me. My vision starts to blur. I feel as though I am twisting through an ongoing vortex that will never stop.12

Crimson spots shower the floor. I stagger backwards attempting to grab for the tea towel or anything to stop the agony. Everything seems out of reach. I can no longer make out where I am. All I hear is her smoker’s cough. It sounds deep and hoarse. It is because she smokes so much. I wish that the toxin in her lungs would grasp hold of her breath and suffocate her. Then she would know what suffering I have to endure, but it doesn’t. She stands there and watches me clumsily fumble around the room.13

I feel light-headed. I want this all to be a dream. That mummy still loves me and that my daddy was still here. I wanted mummy to cradle me in her arms and be happy like she used to be, to not this beast that tortures me daily. I want to be known as the good boy, rather than, “ you disgusting piece of filth” or, “you pathetic vermin.”14

I’m gasping for my last few seconds of breath. I try to offer an outstretch hand to mother but the pain aches too much. My knees shatter to the ground. My mind is still spinning. I try to put out my hands, but they fail me and unconscious I crash to the floor.15