Factfiction

THIS IS A SECOND DRAFT OF THE SAME PIECE. I DIDN'T PUT THE FIRST DRAFT ON HERE. BUT, MY CREATIVE WRITING TEACHER CRITIQUED IT, AND, NOW THIS IS MY BETTER, BUT NOT PERFECT. 

I lie on the floor, my eyes burning from heartfelt tears. My face is as red as blood and every part in my body is numb except my head, which is pounding, pounding, pounding in immense pain. I don’t know where to turn, or who to turn to in that matter. God, which is never there when I truly need Him? No way!

      My heart isn’t able to find a steady beat, as it races in my chest. Opening my eyes, everything looks so much duller then it once was. I glance around this barren room. Nothing, absolutely nothing, to stabilize this massive pain. I can honestly say the cheesy line, “I am so lost in this moment”, and truly mean it.

      I hear the clock ticking, ticking, ticking…I wish time could cease at the moment you need it to most. But, it doesn’t. Not ever. More tears fill my now swollen eyes and roll down my cheeks. Each time I try to control these unbearable sobs, they just become worse. My breathing feels awkward and I feel around my body for my inhaler…nothing. This burden is more than I can bare. No one, not even the God my forefathers worshiped, can lift this from my bruised shoulders. I am completely humiliated. My innocence was not only kidnapped, but, it was brutally murdered in a matter of minutes.

      Floods of thoughts and memories start pouring throughout my brain. But, most of all, floods of anger rage within me. Who deserves this? What have I done? I know that my body and brain are still in shock from the disturbing fact that my own father would do such a crime to me, his own daughter. I hate him! I despise the man! I shall breathe curse upon him with every last breath. Bruises cover my body, and burns cover my heart. But, what covers that man is nothing besides pride and honor. No one would believe me if I tried to tell. My father is the pastor of our small town. Not only does everyone worship the man, they treat him as if he were the Almighty, himself. I know with all my heart, if I went and told anyone that my father, the holy man of God, raped me, brutally tore my innocence from me, so I would never leave him like my mother did, I would be mocked and ridiculed for such a “lie”. So, now, I must put my clothes back onto my beaten body, fake another smile, and walk out of the solitude of my room into daylight…to face everybody…and, keep my mouth shut.