The Mother – Domestic Violence

motherThe Mother – Based on True Events

This story is very close to my heart, it is a story roughly based on my Mother’s life, I have changed the names and certain aspects of the story. I hope you see her vision. And can I just say, any woman out there how is suffering from domestic violence and would like help, do not hesitate to get help, there are people out there for you and if you would like to talk, I am here. Don’t be alone in your fight, we are here for you; don’t suffer in silence.

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She cowers in the corner, her limbs have been possessed by the jitters of fear; holding on to her swollen cheekbone as she sniffles up the sobs. The children John, Lori and Stephen were asleep, school in the morning, which she had to get up for; another ball to juggle. She knew she would have to explain to someone in the playground about the cuts and bruises she could not make-up over or hide. How else can you say the best father, friend and son in the world, has taken his controlled anger out on the love of his life? I can’t…

His shadow from the middle of the living room grimly overshadows her. She doesn’t move a muscle so he wouldn’t use his again. Looking at his art work he stands analysing every angle and shade of red, chomping on a variety of meats sandwich.

“Are you gonna’ get up or are you gonna’ sit there like a petulant child all night? I barely even touched you…” He grunts over a mouthful of food. Her eyes glued to his shoes, she will see him move before the next attack.

“So you’re not talking to me now? I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” The monster grumbles. She slowly shakes her eyes to reveal her eyes to him. “Listen, I gotta’ get to work; we’ll talk about this later. I love you baby.” He walks over and kisses her on her scruff driven arid hair. He walks out the room; the rustle of a coat wafts from the hallway, the door opens and closes softly.

Peace at last. She extends her shivering legs and walks over to her dressing-mirror. She sits in front of the mirror brushing her hair; each streak was prolonged and emotionless. She places her brush beside her makeup bag which rested on her table. She can’t look at her reflection due to the black eye from her, through sickness and health husband. He recently lost his mother and began drinking heavily; every movement within a moment was classed as offensive which she paid with, in damage. She wipes away the tear from her eye with the ball of her hand, then reaches in her black leather bag and retrieves an ID pass for a Mentally disability hospital, Sandie Moore is printed in black bold letters underneath her photo.

The moon shimmers in through the window and reflects from her ID to her eye’s, for a brief second the warmth from the light rests her soul and rejuvenates her, but the reality from her disfigurement brings her to the truth of life. She Inhales the air from her broken home and exhales the screams of her tortured insides. Sandie exits her bedroom and heads swiftly and quietly down the dimly lit hallway, checking each of her beautiful children has kept in their slumber and didn’t wake to the scream.

Her house was unkempt, never unclean. Sitting on the toy clustered couch she stares into the blackness of the corner chasms, trying her hardest to find sanctuary in her madness.

“Sandie, you have to take a stand. Your kids are growing up so fast and you cannot allow them being brought up in this house. If you leave him now, wake up the little’uns and bolt for safety you’d be doing the right thing. He’s not a bad father, only a bad husband. I know people will judge your accusation about your actions but you have to stay strong, this is your life and you will not fall further into pain. You’ve already made up your mind, Sand’. You still have you job and family, yes, at first will be hard to get on your feet and hold everything together but you must. He’ll come for us, he’ll come for you blood; but to ensure your children never witness this on any level, it is a sacrifice you must make. Now get up, get what you need and disappear before morning. Holding in your cries, girl, you’ve shed enough for him.”

She stands and suppresses her demons and doubts and walks into her children’s bedroom, gently shaking Stephen, he was the less likely to cry and make to loud of a noise.

“C’mon, get up, son…” She stands there.

“Where we going, Mam?” Rubbing his eyes opened “We’re going to stay with your uncle tonight, wake up the other two will ya’. I need you to do as I say and be strong and whatever happens after tonight just know, I love you all.” She stands a step backwards.

“Okay Mam, I love you too.”

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16 Comments

Filed under Articles, Blog, Blogging, Life, Literacy, Misc, Random, Relationships, Story, Uncategorized, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

16 responses to “The Mother – Domestic Violence

  1. Very moving. The piece says so much without you spelling things out for us. Excellent.

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  2. Prayer for all of your hearts.

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  3. I’ve nominated you for the Liebster Award. Please have a look at this post for details http://hightimezz.wordpress.com/2014/02/11/award-por-moi/…..you don’t have to join, its up to you 🙂

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  4. Reblogged this on petitemagique and commented:
    Please check out this post Alex wrote about domestic violence.

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  5. You did describe these so very well. Violence of any kind is not acceptable and there are no excuses at all.
    Irene

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  6. Pingback: The Mother – Fight for the Kids | Adult & Teen Fiction

  7. “She Inhales the air from her broken home and exhales the screams of her tortured insides.” That’s a great line. Your piece is very visual.

    Like

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