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+---- Thread: When the Bough Breaks (/showthread.php?tid=17479)
When the Bough Breaks - Throes - 2009-10-11
Read me please.
Disclaimer: Contains subject matter that may be disturbing or offensive to some readers. Sorry.
When the Bough Breaks
It always begins the same way.
It is dark. I cant see your face, but every inch of my body knows youre there. I can smell the sweat on your skin. Hear you panting and gasping. I feel your fingers, thick and calloused and greedy, touch and squeeze and run over my body. I feel your lips, your teeth, searching, nibbling, biting, sucking. Your tongue in my mouth, hesitant and hungry. I fight to scream, but my lungs betray me, a pathetic whimper leaving my lips. I hear you laugh; my stomach sinks and my eyes shut tight.
Terror.
Tonight, as all nights, I wake to the sound of my own screaming, the taste of tears on my pillow. I wake with fear in my heart and demons in my head; my sleep is plagued by visions of you. Tedward the teddy bear, as always, looks at me with sympathy, offers a hug and a soft shoulder to cry on. He is my confidant, the only other who carries the weight of the vile secret you and I share.
Such a heavy burden for a soft, innocent creature.
It is dark. Quietly, carefully, I slip out of bed and into the hallway. Tedward accompanies me, lending his unspoken encouragement and support. I can hear your snoring echo through the house, the walls shuddering and shaking at the sound. I tiptoe down the stairs, across the living room, and into the kitchen. I look into Tedwards brown, unmoving eyes, and we agree; tonight must be the night.
The linoleum floor is cold against my bare feet. I set Tedward down on the counter and ask him to stand guard. My fingers fumble with the kitchen drawers, and Ive found it. I pull out a knife, run a finger along its smooth, sharp edge. I press it softly to my wrist. It could be so easy. A little bit more force and I could sleep peacefully, soundly, safely, forever.
It could be so easy.
I look at Tedward in the darkness. I feel his disapproving gaze and hesitate. No, not this way, this isnt how we planned it. I carefully put the knife back into the drawer and pull another one out in its place. This one has a long, serrated blade and a slight curve at its point. It gleams in the darkness, moonlight dancing on the metal, promising a future that is terrible and beautiful. It tickles as I run my finger along its edge. I grab Tedward and kiss him gently on the forehead, and he understands. His sacrifice will be my salvation. I plunge the knife into him, twisting it into his body until only a small part of the handle is visible. I hold him close to me, apologize, run my hand along his back, comfort his pain as he comforted mine so many countless nights.
I am sorry.
With Tedward in tow, I creep back up the stairs and toward your bedroom door. My heart pounds in my throat, nearly drowning out the sound of your snoring. My hand grips the doorknob and I let myself in. My stomach turns, my fingers tremble, my whole body feels anticipation, excitement, dread.
Daddy
It is dark. My hand feels out the edge of your bed, the other holding Tedward close. I crawl under the covers next to you, the pounding in my heart growing louder and faster.
Daddy, wake up
You snort a few times, clear your throat, begin to stir. I can almost hear you smile.
Hey there, sweetie. Whats the matter? Did you have another nightmare? I nod. I feel your arm snake around my shoulders. Its ok, sweetie. Daddy will make you feel better.
My stomach sinks to my feet and I begin to shiver uncontrollably. I feel you undressing me, the sweaty sheets brushing against my skin, your chest rising and falling beneath the palms of my hands, my legs against your hips, straddling you the way you taught me. Your lips on mine. I feel your hands, excited and eager, gentle and forceful. I shut my eyes tight, clench my teeth, and desperately retreat into the furthest corners of my mind.
I am not here, I am not here, I am not here
Doesnt that feel good now?
I am playing with Tedward in the living room. It is sunny and the sky is impossibly blue and I can see the flowers, bright and blooming, from the window. Mommy is cooking and the air smells like vanilla and cinnamon. She walks over, kneels beside me, runs her fingers gently through my hair. I look up at her and smile, throw my arms around her. She pats me on the head and offers me a cookie.
Mmm, tastes good, doesnt it?
I am in my room, drawing horses and birds and angels. I hear the clanging of pots and pans downstairs, and angry voices screaming at the top of their lungs. I go to my dresser and wind my Cinderella music box, but I can barely hear the small, tinny song playing against the sounds of dishes shattering and Mommys crying. She comes into my room and locks the door behind her, but I can still hear you screaming downstairs. She smiles and hugs me and tells me everything will be okay. Yes, Mommy, everything will be okay.
You scream.
I pull the knife from your belly and plunge it back in, deeper, faster, harder. I feel your blood, warm and sticky, splatter on my face, my arms, my legs. You scream again, and raise a hand to strike me. I slash at your arms, your throat. I see the look in your eyes and smile. Is this how it feels?
Doesnt that feel good now?
Your eyes widen in horror, your hands pathetically grasping at your throat. You open your mouth as if to speak, but nothing escapes but a gurgling sound and more blood. I watch as the knife disappears and reappears, disappears and reappears, again and again and again. Your body goes limp. I plunge my hands into your wounds, marvel at how slippery and warm it feels inside you. I press my bloodied fingers to your lips.
Mmm, tastes good, doesnt it?
You dont respond.
It is dark. I cast the knife aside, grab Tedward by the hand, and make my way back to my room. I slip into the covers, give him a soft hug, and thank him for being so brave. The blood from my hands smears onto his white fur. I smile and admire his bold, new look.
"You look beautiful."
In the morning there will be sirens, and policemen, and pictures, and questions. There will be confused neighbors, disapproving gazes, and doctors. A world of trouble awaits me in the morning, but tonight, for the first time in months, I will sleep peacefully, soundly, safely.
Forever.
When the Bough Breaks - TøbiasBlack - 2009-10-11
very beautiful, no doubt about that.
When the Bough Breaks - Mark - 2009-10-11
I read all of it. Though, I don't really have any words to describe it, right now...beautiful would be the last thing on my mind.
When the Bough Breaks - Throes - 2009-10-11
Mark Wrote:I read all of it. Though, I don't really have any words to describe it, right now...beautiful would be the last thing on my mind.Terrible? Horrible? Disturbing? Awful?
Horribly written?
Sorry, Mark. These thoughts have been very real and I wanted to finally put them in writing. This is the toned-down version of the scenario that plays out in my head from time to time.
Throws is a madwoman.
When the Bough Breaks - Mark - 2009-10-11
I guess I'm just a bit surprised to see this coming from you. Disturbed would probably be the best way to describe how I felt about reading it. I probably shouldn't assume everyone's childhood was sunshine and rainbows. I know mine wasn't.
When the Bough Breaks - Providence - 2009-10-11
As Tobias said, that was beautiful (though very tragic). It reminded me almost of noir; it could easily be a silent movie.
Throws Wrote:It tickles as I run my finger along its edge.This was the first time I've ever read this description. In a literary world of cliché and redundancy, this line especially stands out to me, and in context (narrated by a little girl), it was delightfully chilling.
Quote:I plunge my hands into your wounds, marvel at how slippery and warm it feels inside you. I press my bloodied fingers to your lips.And this just flat-out gave me goosebumps. While the subject may leave me biased in your favor, I didn't see anything out-of-place in this story.
“Mmm, tastes good, doesn’t it?”
I would love to see more of your writing.
When the Bough Breaks - Corn - 2009-10-11
What would I pay to read more of this...
It's excellent. I'd say it is...chilling.
Although I have to say, I did have to read it twice to grasp the full meaning of this, but that's probably from me being a lousy reader.
Damn. It's very good.
When the Bough Breaks - Flaxative - 2009-10-11
...While it isn't the thing I would ever, ever, EVER want to read, I have to say it is a pretty well-done narrative. I cannot believe that someone could write something like that, mostly because I am less... crazy?
Please stick to just drawings.
When the Bough Breaks - Chompy - 2009-10-11
The writing is active.
It feels personal (between the reader and writer).
The material is dark, but not obtusely twisted or obscene (this isn't the first time I've heard of girls in similar situations having these thoughts).
I like it.
When the Bough Breaks - Throes - 2009-10-11
Flaxative Wrote:I cannot believe that someone could write something like thatWhy not? Movies like Saw, Hostel, and Texas Chainsaw Massacre don't just come into being, people have to write them.
Is it more unbelievable that I wrote this story, or that my father actually did these horrible things to his own daughter?
When the Bough Breaks - kingdj333 - 2009-10-11
I nearly cried! My goodness!
When the Bough Breaks - Providence - 2009-10-11
Flaxative Wrote:...While it isn't the thing I would ever, ever, EVER want to read, I have to say it is a pretty well-done narrative. I cannot believe that someone could write something like that, mostly because I am less... crazy?This could very well be a great way for victims to cope (not to say that's the case here). Would you deny them that? If your answer is "no", then what difference does it make that they would share it with others? It's unsettling, sure, but you can't ignore how big an issue child molestation is in modern society. Writers shouldn't, either.
Please stick to just drawings.
If it's the macabre description that offends you, realize that your opinion is yours alone.
Writers shouldn't be restricted by how negatively their work could affect others; honesty allows for much more effective prose and poetry.
When the Bough Breaks - Salguod - 2009-10-12
While I know as knowledge there are many cases like this, it is disturbing to read a personal account of such an occurrence.
That said, it doesn't at all take away from the gripping narrative. The words are simple, but they are powerful and vivid. The other descriptions were great but the bit that struck me the most was:
"Tedward the teddy bear, as always, looks at me with sympathy, offers a hug and a soft shoulder to cry on. He is my confidant, the only other who carries the weight of the vile secret you and I share.
Such a heavy burden for a soft, innocent creature."
Spoiler
When the Bough Breaks - chrome - 2009-10-12
Flaxative Wrote:...While it isn't the thing I would ever, ever, EVER want to read, I have to say it is a pretty well-done narrative. I cannot believe that someone could write something like that, mostly because I am less... crazy?Had I written this, I would be really offended right now. And I'm usually very open to criticism.
Please stick to just drawings.
Anyway, aside from everything everyone else has said...this takes every single thought of vengeance and anger anyone has ever felt and lets it go smoothly; not something I see too often. I almost felt empathy in reading this, though I know I've never felt anything to such a degree...great job.
When the Bough Breaks - Flaxative - 2009-10-16
I am sorry if I offended anyone. I mostly meant that if Throws writes anymore short stories, I will keep my distance. I won't mind if she writes more, I just won't read them.
Also, about those sort of movies, that is why I never watch any of them. Ever.
When the Bough Breaks - Turtally - 2009-10-16
ClawofBeta Wrote:What would I pay to read more of this...
It's excellent. I'd say it is...chilling.
Although I have to say, I did have to read it twice to grasp the full meaning of this, but that's probably from me being a lousy reader.
Damn. It's very good.
Yeah, I would use the word "chilling", too. It's very well written, as the simple words of a little girl. And yet, the simple words hold so much meaning.
When the Bough Breaks - xBTAx - 2009-10-31