and the beat(ing) goes on…

survivor road

*** POSSIBLE TRIGGERS ***

It’s been over 50 years since I crouched behind the boxes in that dark, dank basement, shivering as much from fear as from cold.  Curled into as small a place as I could, wishing to be even smaller, hoping against hope that this time he wouldn’t find me.

But he did.  He always did.  And the punishment for running and hiding would be far worse than use usual treatment, but there was no fighting that need, that all-consuming need to escape.  And that was only heightened when his friends were involved.

I can still hear their taunts, their horrible laughter as they humiliated me, teased and tortured me.  I can feel the rough, decaying concrete on my palms and knees as I crawled away after they were done.  Finding a corner to curl into, drag my clothes back on over bruises and scrapes.

And now, a…

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