Title: The Life & Times of Sara Sidle Rating: T (language in further chapters, content, violence) Summary: Sara Sidle is an obsessive workaholic. She has a college reading level and is studying twelfth-grade calculus. And she's 12-years-old. August 12, 1984 Sara walked through the halls of her rather tiny home. It was old and in certain places of the house, mold was forming and spreading further. She was intrigued by the mold and she had even asked her mother if she could get some to observe, but her mother of course said no. She walked into the kitchen of her house and sat down. The smell of bacon and eggs filled throughout the house and her mother walked over to her daughter handing her a plate. "There's your plate." She looked down at the plate. "Mom...there's green peppers in these eggs." Her mother turned to face her. "Of course, dear." "I'm allergic to green peppers, mother." Her mom sighed as she mentally slapped herself in the face. "I'm sorry, honey." Sara sighed, twiddling her fingers on the table. "Mom?" "Hm?" "How old am I?" "You're 10, of course." That was it. She walked out of the kitchen to her bedroom. She grabbed her backpack and threw three books in it before heading to the front door. "I'm going to school," she said in nothing more than a mumble. Before her mother could say anything else, she slammed the door. She sighed as she headed outside. It was cold that morning. She wrapped her arms around herself attempting to warm herself up. Her attempts were in vain. During the walk to school, Sara always thought. Not about anything in particular...she contemplated the events in her life and what she was in for at school. She dreaded going to school. She was away from her parents, but she was at the mercy of the little devil spawns- the other students. She walked and walked, a bile forming in her throat with every step. Every step took her closer and closer to school. Kids wouldn't leave her alone. They didn't understand her ways of thinking, just like her parents. She couldn't believe how they acted- so carefree, so loose. How could the do that? Life wasn't all fun and games, something Sara Mare Sidle learned at a young age. Hey, at least she made the school proud- when testing season came along, the teachers and principals were flattered when they saw young Sara Sidle's test results. The school got more money, which meant a possible raise in their futures. They praised Sara and gave her little gifts. Last time, she got a sticker with a smiling rabbit that said, "Good job!" Sara was more interested in why a rabbit would be telling her she did a good job. And why was the rabbit so cheery in the first place? What did he have in life that made him happy? She decided that the rabbit must've lived a good life. Maybe he had a wife and children who he went home to every night who loved him very much. She bet he had a wonderful dinner and snuggled with his children, telling them stories before he went to sleep with his adoring wife. At the moment, Sara was getting closer and closer to school. She was knocked out of her thoughts when she heard wheels coming up behind her. She stopped and she turned around coming face-to-face with a kid her age, but about twice her size. "What do you want, Josh?" He laughed as he jumped off of his skateboard. "Why so cold, Sidle?" She sighed as she rolled her eyes. She hated it when he called her by her surname. Really, to tell the truth, she wanted nothing to do with the Sidle family. She wanted nothing to do with the name 'Sidle'. She wanted to change her name. Yes, that's what she would do. When she made it to college, she would officially change her name. "Leave me alone, Josh." "Aww, come on, Sara!" "Oh, so now I'm worthy of the mighty Josh Deckard to be called by my first name?" "Don't do this, Sara." "I'm not doing anything but walking to school and getting away from you." She turned to walk to the school, but he followed behind her on his skateboard. "You're a bitch." He skated ahead of her finally leaving her sight and she sighed in relief. Josh Deckard was a jock-in-training. His parents thought he was the best thing that ever happened to them, heck they worshipped the ground he walked on. Sara wanted to go over to Josh's house, slap both parents in the face, and tell them the truth- that their lovely prodigy was a bratty, lying, snotty little runt. This brought a smile to her face as she stepped onto school grounds. Then, her smile disappeared. She looked up at the old sign with faded white writing that said, "Mountain Peak Middle School." She hated Mountain Peak Middle School, and why was it named that anyways? She lived in Tamales Bay, for goodness sake. She walked through the school, feeling eyes latching onto her. She ignored them as best she could, but she felt their eyes burning through the back of her head. She grimaced as she walked away quickly and went to her locker in the hallway. She twisted the lock right and left until it clicked off of her locker door. Her combination was simple- 1-9-0-8. She could remember that forever. She opened her locker and smiled to herself. It was very organized. On the locker door, her schedule was taped. She had various books alphaphatized stacked up in her locker on each shelf. On one shelf was non-fiction, the other fiction. The titles varied from Famous Poets of the Seventeenth Century to To Kill a Mockingbird. She emptied her backpack of its contents, placing her lunch in its brown paper bag between the shelves and the textbooks she brought from home. She put the books in their rightful places before grabbing To Kill a Mockingbird. She would read that at lunch, she decided. She closed the locker, and after hearing the satisfying click of the lock when she re-locked her locker, she walked off to her first class. The first class was English. She had never been too keen of her English teacher, he was an old man with thick glasses and clothes that made him look like he had dressed himself in the dark. He had ugly greenish-yellow teeth and his voice was hoarse and crackily. He had ugly socks and his pant-legs were too short for him, so his hideous socks showed. "Sara, hello." She looked up to see her teacher sitting at his desk with a smile on his face. She looked around and saw that she was the only one in the classroom. "Hello, Mr. Wickerman." He smiled. "What book do you have there?" "Oh, uh..." she fumbled with her things until she got to the book and held it up for him to see. "Ah...a classic. Enjoy." Mr. Wickerman wasn't the cleanest man in the world, but he certainly treated Sara like the true adult she was. She smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Wickerman, I'm sure I will." She walked to the back of the class and sat in the seat at the far corner. This was her favorite spot. This way, she could read when she had already heard the lectures before, and when she was crying no one could see or hear her. She opened up her book and began reading the first page. FADE IN EXTERIOR: MAYCOMB, ALABAMA, DAYBREAK. It is just before dawn, and in the half-light cotton farms, pinewoods, the hills surrounding the Maycomb, and the Courthouse Square are seen. A young woman's voice is heard. Before Sara could get any further through her book, the door flew open and the rest of the students ran into the room. They all kept their distances from Sara, and that was best, Sara decided. This made them happy, this made her happy. This way, she could avoid social contact with the students. She closed the book as the day began. In an hour, Sara would go to her history class and then PE. She hated PE. She hated it with every fiber of her being. She hated it so much because she hated physical activities. She didn't need to prove herself to anyone by kicking a soccer ball or hitting a baseball. She also hated the fact that she had to change out in front of the other girls. Why did they do that? Why could they not go to PE in the clothes they wore to school? Why? She just didn't understand. Sara's thoughts went to her birthday coming up. She sighed- would her parents even remember? Her mother thought she was 10-years-old, she doubted they would remember her birthday coming up. She never really had a normal birthday anyway...she found out long ago that what her mother and father did to each other behind closed doors wasn't normal. She learned that beating each other to a bloody pulp was very much indeed not a way of telling each other 'I love you'. On her past birthdays, she woke up early in the mornings. She was excited- she expected a big homemade birthday cake with all the candles and sprinkles on it, and lots of presents. Last year, she got a small cake her father brought home after work. It was a carrot cake- Sara hated carrot cake. He put seven candles on it. She told him she was turning 11 and he ruffled her hair telling her she was just a silly little kid wanting to grow up. She knew from then on she wouldn't expect any presents on her birthday or any cake for that matter. Her parents were too busy beating the crap out of each other to notice they had a daughter. And her brother moved away the second he turned 18. He had nothing else to do with his family now, and he didn't seem to care about his baby sister being left in the uncapable hands of Laura and John Sidle. She wondered if he was mad at her for ratting him out all those years about the weed under his bed. She had no idea what it was, she was playing hide-and-seek and ran into his room. She hid under his bed and saw the bag. She was so young, bless her heart she thought it was dirt. It was marijuana, and her brother, Daniel Sidle was grounded for a year. "Sara?" She looked up from her desk. All eyes were on her, some glaring at her and some looking at her like she was crazy. "Uh...yes, Mr. Wickerman?" The old man smiled. "Could you explain to us the differences between an antagonist and a protagonist?" She slowly nodded. "An antagonist is basically the villain or the evil character in the story. The protangonist is the good character, and those who usually try to stop the antagonist." He nodded. "Nice job, Sara." He turned to the class. "Now, I know you have all been told this before, but what scares me is that you all seem to forget about the definitions of these two terms on tests!" Sara smiled, holding back the urge to laugh. He winked at her before turning back to the rest of the class. "We're having a test Thursday morning. Don't. Forget. Again." The class ended. Sara walked to the front of the class after the classroom was emptied and she smiled at her teacher before walking out. She thought again. How was her brother? Did he go to college? Was he still on weed? What if he was a junkie? Would she ever see him again? Would- Someone bumped into her and sent her to the ground. "Watch it, Sidle!" said an older girl. Sara sighed as she got up picking up her books. She didn't understand why everyone called her by her surname, she hated it, that was for sure. She walked to her history class. She despised her history teacher. She hated her so much. The woman had long black hair and shiny green eyes. They freaked her out. She dreaded asking her teacher for help on an assignment because of the fact. The woman was like the bad witch in the Wizard of Oz, except she didn't have green skin. Some days, though, Sara could've sworn her skin had a green tint to it. Sara went to the seat in the far corner yet again. She took her seat and hugged the book against her chest. She held onto the book as tightly as she could, as if it would break if she let go. She lowered her head. She was so tired, and she wanted so badly to fall asleep. She closed her eyes and lowered her head more so that it just hovered over the desk. She was not about to lay her head on that desk, it was unsanitary. More and more students walked in through the doors and took seats away from Sara. Again, she didn't care. It also gave her time to think, to clear her mind. Sometimes she even meditated, it helped her ease her mind of the events of the day before. She was hoping that history class would be extra long today since she had PE right after it. Bringing her mind back to PE, she had no idea that the bell had already rang. Great, it was time for PE already. She sighed as she stood up from her chair and walked out. She avoided the glances she got from the students she walked passed and went straight to the girl's locker room. She was the first one there, luckily. She ran inside and opened up her locker taking out her PE clothes. She kept two pairs of shoes and two pairs of clothes for PE in her locker. She slipped off her sneakers and tied her tennis shoes to her feet after slipping on a pair of black shorts. She hated shorts- they showed off her legs and she hated the sight of her legs. She slipped on a purple tank top and looked at herself in the mirror. The sight she saw made her want to gag. On her legs were two nice purple bruises forming around her calves. She looked at her arms- she had no idea they were so banged up. They were turning black and blue. She hadn't seen this before, today. She then remembered she had worn a long-sleeved t-shirt that day. She walked over to her locker, looking frantically around for something else to wear- pants! She needed pants! She could make up something to explain the bruises on her arms, but if she said she got the bruises from a fall on her legs too, it would sound fishy. "Damn," she muttered. Sara rarely sweared, but at this moment it was appropriate. She couldn't find any pants. She was going to have to go out there looking like she had been hit by a car. "Alright, two captains, pick your teams." The PE teacher was in a cheery mood. He picked two team captains. We were going to play flag football, great. "Alright, Alyssa, Jeff, get up here." The two team captains ran up to the front of the group of kids. They quickly picked out the kids for their teams, and Alyssa grimaced as she noticed Sara was the last person there. Sara was on her team. Her team. She couldn't believe it- her team always won. She wasn't going to let Sara ruin her winning-streak. "Hey Sidle," Alyssa said walking over to her. Sara was dreading this. "What?" "Stay out of the way and let the real athletes do their work." She shrugged. "Whatever you say." "You can go read or something." This made Sara want to slug her across her face, but she refrained from doing so. Everyone tied the orange and green sashes onto their waists and the whistle was blown. Sara was happy no one had said anything about her bruises. "Oof!" Sara went down. Three guys toppled over on top of her followed by two of the more muscular girls in the class. She couldn't breathe. "Hey! Get off, now!" This was the coach. Oh, so now he was concerned. Everyone rolled off of Sara and she gasped for breath when she sat up. The coach saw her bruises and grimaced. "Sara, go to the nurse." Sara walked off, limping as she did so the nurse's office. When she arrived at the white, surprisingly sterile room. She took a seat and the nurse saw her and smiled. "Hello, Sara." She was sent to the nurse's office a lot. She always ended up getting hurt during PE or in a scuffle in the hallway. She learned to make friends with the nurse, she was a fairly nice lady. "What's wrong, hon?" Sara's expression changed. "Uh..." She looked at the bruises all over her body and grimaced. "Oh, honey...what happened?" "I got tackled during football." "Just now?" She nodded. The woman knew better. These bruises were older than a few days, but their colors were still dark and clearly visible. She shook her head. "Sara..." "I'm telling you the truth." The woman sighed. "If you're really telling me the truth..." "I am." She nodded. "Alright." Sara stood up and began to walk out, but she collapsed into the chair. "My ankle hurts." The woman removed her sock and looked at the swelling skin. "It's just sprained, don't worry." Sara nodded and walked out of the nurse's office, limping a bit. Luckily, lunchttime was next. She quickly made her way to the girl's locker room where she changed and went to her locker in the hallway and grabbed her lunch. She grabbed her book from its hiding place in the girl's locker room, making a second stop there, and almost ran to the lunchroom. She sat in the corner of the room at a small table with wobbily legs. She opened the book as she took a bite of her ham and cheese sandwich and sipped her apple juice. Sara didn't believe in unhealthy lunches, it just wasn't her. She continued reading the book until her lunch was completely eaten. The bell rang much too quickly and she had to go to her other classes now. She assured herself that she would only be here for a few more hours, and then would be gone. That wasn't very reassuring. Home was in a way worse than school. At home, she sat isolated in her room, occasionally seeking the comfort of the darkness and quietness that was in her closet. She dreaded her father coming home. When she was younger, he was a better man than he was now. Now, the second the door opened, the fighting began. Her mother was always cooking dinner. She hated her husband, yet she cooked a good meal for him every night. After the yelling had began, the fists would start flying. Her mother would fall to the floor with a black-eye and her father would be ready to throw another punch. Sara always tried to intervene, but all that got her was a bruised shoulder or an even worse beating if her father was really pissed. Sara walked to her other classes and sat in silence taking notes every now and then. She didn't know what to do anymore- her life went around in circles. TBC
Here's part two: Title: The Life & Times of Sara Sidle Rating: T Summary: (You all know by now) Disclaimer: I am still sitting her in my room running on caffeinated beverages to write fanfiction- and I'm not going anywhere any time soon! I own nothing, don't sue, please! August 12, 1984- 3:45 pm Sara walked into her home after a long day at school. She looked around the house- some books and newspapers lying here and there. Her mother had cleaned that day. She went straight for her room after muttering a simple, "I'm home" and closed the door. She slipped off her shoes and sat down on the floor, emptying her backpack of its contents. She removed her book and the little homework she had and began working on it. "In the third stage of evolution..." she sighed as she began reading in her science book the things she already knew. She closed the book and removed To Kill a Mockingbird. She hadn't gotten as far as she would've liked at school that day, so she opened it and began reading. She didn't even mean for it to happen, but her mind wandered to other places. School, what happened at PE, what would happen at 6:00 when her father stepped through the door probably groping some bimbo he picked up at a bar. Yes, that's right. Sara knew that her father went parading around with hookers and people he was 20 years older than. Her mother never said anything about the women he came home with while they were at the house. That would be impolite. When the women finally left the house, which could be anywhere from 8:00 pm to 4:00 am, the fighting began just like any other day. Sara hated the women he came home with. They were just happy they were getting money- her father was in it for the sex. Sara was disgusted that he could spend anywhere from 500 to 1000 dollars just to get some. They were losing money as it was, he was just speeding up the inevitable. Sara wanted to go to college- Harvard. She wanted to become a crime scene investigator since she was always interested in criminal justice. She was intrigued by the fact that a rapist or a murderer could be convicted by the evidence collected at the scene of a crime taken to a lab and processed. Science convicted them. She found that very interesting indeed. "Sara?" Her mother's voice made her look up from the book she wasn't exactly reading at the moment. "Mother?" "Your father's coming home tonight with one of his friends. I want you to mind your manners at dinner." Mind her manners? Did her mother have any idea what she was telling her daughter to do? She was going to act nice to some woman her father picked up off the street just to anger his wife? Yeah, sure- like that would ever happen. "Yes, mother." That was a lie, of course. She would act whatever way she wanted to. If she pissed off that hooker, see if Sara cared. Her father would care, that was for sure, but she would give that woman hell. Sara closed the book, deciding she would think instead of read that day. She looked around her room- it was cream-colored, however some of the paint was starting to chip off. She looked around and saw a stuffed blue hippo. For so many years that blue hippo had been her best friend. In the worst of times, she hugged that little stuffed animal while she sat in the floor curled up a tiny ball. She loved that blue hippo, and she was never going to get rid of it, no matter how old she got. She got up and looked at the pictures on her walls- pictures of her as a little kid running around all smiles. These weren't forced smiles, these were real smiles. She used to be a care-free kid with no troubles at all in the world. She thought she was living the life of a god, but boy did things change once she got to school. Her parents had opened a B & B which quickly went under. Her father started drinking and came home later and later. Things went from bad to worse. The fighting got worse, the fists started flying, and the trips to the hospital began. She wished for once in her life she could be considered normal. Maybe she could live like a normal kid- playing with toys and running around day after day with no cares in the world. Sara decided she could never do this. Never. The door opened- it was already 6:00? Sara walked over to her door and slowly slid it open. She peeked through the small crack she had made and saw her father stumble in through the entry-way. She sighed as she made her way out of her room for a better look. After her father, a rather tiny woman wearing almost nothing walked in through the door with a long cigarette between her fingers. "This is where you live?" Sara heard the woman ask after taking a long drag. "Yup, this is home." Her father wrapped an arm around the woman's waist as she blew a puff of smoke into his face. Sara grimaced. "Laura?" Her father walked through the house looking for her mother. Her mother walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. Sara could tell her mother was furious that her husband brought home another woman again, but she forced a smile across her face and welcomed the lady. "Hello." Sara gulped. Now it was time for the daughter's entrance. She wasn't at a fancy ball waiting for prince charming, oh no. She was going to go welcome some bimbo her father had brought home for kicks. Sara slowly (against her will) made her way to the living room where she spotted the small group. The woman had heavy make-up on, most of it not necessary for her appearance, and she had on a short dress that showed off her legs. She wore black heels and had long blonde hair. "This your kid?" Her father nodded with a smile on his face. Sara could tell the smile was forced. He was just as angry as her mother was, and he was just doing this to annoy and piss her off. "Hello," Sara said in a kind but forced tone. The woman nodded and took a long drag before blowing the smoke in Sara's face. She coughed and the woman turned to her father. "Anywhere I can put this out?" she motioned to the cigarette. Her father nodded and led her into the kitchen showing her an ashtray. Those will kill you, sweetheart, Sara thought. She had to refrain from actually saying this to the woman's face which was harder than it sounded. Sara walked into the kitchen. The woman looked at her. "Hey kid, be a doll and put these somewhere." The woman handed Sara everything- her purse, her coat, her extra pairs of shoes, her make-up bag, her wallet, everything. Sara walked out of the kitchen and when the woman wasn't looking, she threw the items onto the couch, not caring if she broke anything. To be truthful, she was hoping that she had. She walked back into the kitchen and took a seat. Her mother brought over the plates and placed them on the table. She also brought some drinks and then took a seat herself. "So...John, who is this lovely lady?" Sara almost burst out laughing. Almost. She knew her mother meant the exact opposite of what she was saying, but she couldn't let the other woman know the true nature of her family, no matter what. Her father smiled. "Well..." he folded his arms over each other with pride. "Her name is Jaqueline." Jaqueline. Huh. She didn't look like a Jaqueline. "Nice to meet you, Jaqueline," her mother said. Nice to meet you, you bimbo. What'd you get when you graduated from high school, huh? Breast implants? I'm sorry, you didn't graduate from high school, did you? Sara smiled to herself at her own thoughts. The rest of the meal was silent except for the moments her father bragged with pride about how 'wonderful' Jaqueline was. Oh yes, let's all be like Jaqueline. Everyone wants to be like Jaqueline. Sara knew that's what she wanted to do for a living. Tch, yeah right. After a while, Jaqueline finally left after giving Sara's father a nice kiss on the lips. Sara grimaced as she watched the two and then sighed when she finally left. Now, the fighting began. "So...John, I didn't know you were so desperate for sex you had bring home some bimbo to your wife and daughter." This was the same statement her mother used every time he brought home another woman. This time, however, she remembered to include Sara in the conversation. "You're just jealous, Laura." Her mother laughed. "Jealous? Jealous of what? Answer that for me, John." This wasn't going well. Her father was getting angrier by the second and her mother didn't know when to stop. "I don't even know why I married, you," he said. "Well, you're stuck with me. For better or worse." "I could always divorce your ass." "And leave your daughter?" "I don't need my daughter, I don't need you. I'd be better off without both of you." Sara felt her hand balling into a fist, her knuckles were turning white. She hated it when they remembered they had a daughter and thus brought her into the conversation. "I'm right here, dad," Sara said walking into the living room. Her father turned to her. "Oh, hey kiddo." "Don't try and make it sound like you didn't do anything, dad!" Sara yelled. "I heard what you said about me!" He sighed. "Sara..." "I'm sick of you bringing home these hookers, dad! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of you ignoring me, I'm sick of everyone forgetting they have a child, I'm sick of you two forgetting I have a birthday!" Her father slapped her across the face. "I give you everything, you hear me? Everything!" She looked up at him in defiance. "Yes, I'm sorry, I forgot how wonderful you have been all these years! I'm sorry I didn't treat you better!" Her father slapped her again and Sara could taste the blood in her mouth. Before he could hit her again, her mother jumped in. "John! You leave her out of this, this is between you and me!" Sara looked at her mom in disbelief- she always said that, yet she used her daughter as a topic of conversation in their arguments. "Fine!" Her father grabbed Sara by her arm and threw her in her room, slamming the door. Sara slid to the floor hugging her knees- this was it. The fighting had started and it wasn't going to stop for hours. Sara grabbed her stuffed blue hippo and squeezed it. This was what she did to comfort herself when they started in. She felt the tears forming in her eyes, yet she refused to let them fall. She heard her mother fall to the floor and her father storm out of the room. Her door flew open and she saw her father looking at her, furious. "Leave me alone, dad! Just go bang some other woman and stay the hell away from me!" Sara said that? She said that? Sara, of all people said that. Her father struck her across her face and she fell to the floor rubbing the skin he had bruised. He kicked her one time before walking out of the house and slamming the door behind him. Sara crawled into the living room to find her mother doing the dishes, ignoring the swollen-shut eye she had. Sara walked into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror- her face was now bruised and her lip was bleeding slightly. She wiped the blood off of her mouth with a wash cloth before rinsing out her mouth and went back into her room. She hugged her knees to her chest, wishing for it all to just disappear.
Thanks, here comes the cavalry! Title: The Life & Times of Sara Sidle Rating: T Summary: (You all know by now) Disclaimer: And I am still sitting here in my room running on caffeinated beverages to write fanfiction! Don't sue! September 1, 1984 School wasn't going over too well. She tried to hide her injuries as best as she could, but she wasn't doing a very good job of it. Surprisingly, though, Child Services had not been called into the picture. Sara paced back and forth through her room, her hands folded behind her back as she walked. It was cloudy and her room was dark except for the small beams of light shining through the blinds in her room. She just walked- back and forth, back and forth. There was not much else to do, her father was home that day from a terrible hangover; he had stayed out all night and when he got home he spent almost hours emptying the contents of his stomach...in the bathroom right next to Sara's room. Her mother was busy cleaning, of course. She wanted to avoid contact with her husband as much as Sara did. Sara felt trapped- home was hell, the outside world was hell. She went outside, she was exposed to people. She stayed home, she was exposed to only two people. She opened her door and went to the kitchen. Silently, she opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of orange juice. She sipped it quickly, savoring the taste and the cool feeling of the liquid sliding down her throat. She washed the glass out and put it in the dishwasher before walking back into her room. She laid on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She turned to look at the small window next to her room. She could, she thought, just open the window and jump out. She could start a new life somewhere under a new alias. She could start a group of rebel pre-teens and teenagers who ran away from home. They could have a crazy name and wear black leather jackets. They could be a street gang. She shook her head, laughing a little at the crazy thought that had crossed her mind. Still, however, she didn't think that being against the law would be so bad. She was intelligent enough to avoid being caught, that was for sure, and also, what had the law done for her that was so grand? She could run away that night. She doubted her mother and father would've noticed she was gone until the next day. Maybe...maybe she could leave that night. She could go somewhere else, go to school, and when she was old enough, get a job to pay her college tuition. The thought brought a smile to her face- what would college be like? She assumed it would be a lot better than grammar school or middle school- she would be with a more mature and developed community. Sara looked around her room- her eyes latched onto an old book. The stitching to keep the pages in place were falling out and the writing was faded. She stood up and opened the book. It was an old fairy-tale story-book. Sara almost laughed. Her mother used to read fairy-tales to her. She would hear about the princess in distress and the knight in shining armor who, at the end of the story, rescued her. Every story ended the same- And they lived happily ever after. Why did they live happily ever after? What if the mother-in-laws hated each other? What if the family didn't get along? What if the princess found out her prince charming was cheating on her? They never put those details into the stories. She closed the book and slid it under her bed. She sat back on her bed and looked down at her feet. The day was going by slowly...Verrrrrry slowly. She looked back at the window on her wall. She stood on her bed and popped the window open. She slid through the window, which she did with ease since she was so skinny. She landed on her feet. Again she looked down at her feet, eyeing her worn-out sneakers. She shrugged and walked off, making sure she wasn't in the view of her mother or father from the front windows of the house. She walked down the sidewalk, her silky brown hair blowing around behind her. She had her hands in her pockets as she walked- it was still cold. She walked to the corner of the road. She looked to see a liquor store, which she knew her father frequented often. She could always smell cheap whiskey or brandy on his breath when he walked in through the door. She grimaced and almost gagged as the smell came flooding back to her, bringing along with it the horrible memories she locked in her closet. She had once been told that everyone had skeletons in their closets...but she doubted anyone had the same skeletons in her closet that she had. She kept walking down the road, but she could've sworn someone was watching her. Every time she turned around, she saw no one. She kept walking. The feeling got stronger and stronger, yet she still saw no one following her. She turned around and started walking backwards. She turned around and started running, but she fell to the ground when she bumped into someone. "Woah! Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" She looked up to see a police officer staring down at her. He helped her up, but she noticed the color drained from his face when he looked at her body. Shoot, she had forgotten to put something on to cover the bruises on her arms and legs! "Sweetheart, what happened to you?" "Uh..." Sara didn't know what to say. The officer was staring right through her. "Honey, did someone do this to you?" Sara backed up, almost tripping over her own feet. She ran. She didn't know what to do, so she ran. She felt so stupid, but she turned her heel and ran from the officer. "Hey! Come back, I want to help you!" She ignored the officer's voice. She heard in the distance him talking on his walkie-talkie. "This is officer Hayesworth. There's a minor running around town, female, looks to be about 13, brown hair, brown eyes. She's wearing a black tank-top and blue jeans. Green sneakers." Sara looked back to see the officer getting in his car and coming after her. Crap, he wouldn't just leave her alone, he was going to chase her. She quickened her pace and ran around the corner. She turned around again to find the car dangerously close to her. She almost screamed as the car came closer and closer. She panted with exhaustion as she continued to run. She turned a corner again and ran still. "Please, I want to help you!" This was the officer in the car. Sara shook her head as she continued to run. She tripped and tumbled onto the ground, scraping her arms and legs. She twisted her ankle and soon she was cornered by police cars. She hyperventalated as she tried desperately to get to her feet and run. She got on her good foot and began to limp away, but an officer grabbed her arm so she couldn't go anywhere. "Let me go, please!" Her pleads with the officers were useless and she found herself being led over to a squad car. She sat down while the officers called an ambulance. "Sweetheart." She turned to look at a female officer who was kneeled down beside her with a concerned expression on her face. "Sweetheart, can you tell us what happened?" Sara felt the tears fall down her face and she tried to hide them, but they were falling down too quickly. The female officer wiped the tears from her face and looked in her eyes. "Honey, please- can you tell me what happened?" Sara shook her head and she heard the ambulance approaching. She was led over to the ambulance and the small cuts on her arms and legs were cleaned and bandaged. "We're going to take you to the hospital to get some x-rays taken." Sara just nodded and allowed them to wrap a blanket around her shoulders. They closed the ambulance doors and drove off. September 1, 1984- Nighttime Sara sat on the hospital bed hugging her knees like she had done so many times in her life. She was wearing a thin white hospital gown and waiting for the results of her x-rays. She rocked herself back and forth slowly, just like her mother had done when she was younger. She looked around the room- there were cotton swabs, a small metal sink, a small bathroom to the side of the room. There was a TV fixed on the wall of the room. It was on, but she couldn't hear anything coming from it. She was in another place, another realm. "Sara?" She looked up at the male doctor walking in with a folder. "Uh-huh?" "Can you tell me your last name?" "S-Sidle...S-I-D-L-E." "Thank you..." He headed out, but a nurse stopped him. "Doctor, what do the x-rays say?" The doctor tried to speak in a soft tone so that Sara couldn't hear what he had to say, but she could still hear him perfectly. "A few old broken bones...hairline fractures..." "Abuse?" "Possibly. I'm going to notify her parents and let them know she's here...the authorities found her, so they're most likely going to call Child Services in." The doctor walked off, leaving the nurse standing in the hallway to stare at Sara. She smiled weakly before walking off. Sara knew what was going to happen next. Her parents would be called. Her drunk father and her mother would come over to the hospital to see her. Then, the police would bring them in for questioning, as of course she would be. Child Services would be called once they found out what went on in her home, and she would most likely go into Foster Care. She shuddered at the thought. She knew this all-too well. She had read about it in fourth grade. It didn't sound fun, that was for sure. TBC
Thanks, guys, here's the fourth part: September 2, 1984 Sara didn't know how she did it, but she fell asleep. She managed to block out all of her thoughts of what would happen the next day and what had already happened. Unfortunately, she woke up to the sound of her parents (well, her father..) yelling at the nurses and doctors. "What? What do you mean we can't see her?" This was her father. "Sir, please-" "I want to see my daughter!" "Sir, please listen to me-" "This is bullshit!" Sara rolled her eyes. Dad was sober, whoop-tee-doo. "Sir, listen to me- your daughter has many bruises and injuries she has sustained over a number of years. She also has many old broken bones that were never treated.." "So why can't I see her?" "Sir, it's procedure. We have to make sure that there was no child abuse going on in your home-" "WHAT?" Now her father was going nuts. Sara was almost one-hundred percent sure he was trying to throw punches at the doctors. Luckily, before anyone got their brains knocked out, the authorities stepped in. "Sir, maam, please come with us..." Sara knew her mother would go quietly, but her father wasn't going without a fight. "Don't touch me! I want to see my daughter-" "Sir, please-" "SHUT UP, YOU PIG!" Now, the authorities had to handcuff her father in order to get him out of the building without hurting anyone. Her mother walked out quietly, fumbling with her fingers as she walked. Her father was throwing obscenities over his shoulder, mainly aimed at the police and doctors. Sara heard a sigh and then the doctor went through her door. "Sara?" "What?" "We're going to treat your broken bones. You have a broken arm and a broken ankle, so we're going to need to treat those before they get worse." Sara just nodded as the doctor motioned for some nurses to come in. They brought with them bandages and some other items. She winced as the doctor lifted her broken ankle. "Alright, it's only going to hurt for a little bit, I'm going to put a cast on your foot, so you're going to need to stay off of it for a while." She nodded as the doctor took out a roll of bandages and began wrapping her ankle. "Okay...now your little friends can sign it!" Sara assumed the doctor was trying to lighten the mood. What he didn't know, however, was that Sara didn't have any friends. No one wanted to be friends with her, they all just labeled her as weird or freaky the moment they saw her. The doctor noticed her confused expression and cleared his throat. "Well...uh...now, let's get your arm fixed up." He went around to the other side of Sara and began wrapping her left arm. Sara's ankle was already getting itchy, but she ignored it as best she could. "There!" Now, she really looked like she had been hit by a car. "And Sara, we're going to need to do a head exam just to make sure you didn't sustain any injuries to your skull or brain." Sara nodded as they brought in a wheelchair and they helped her out of the bed before wheeling her out of the room. September 2, 1984- Police Department "Mr. and Mrs. Sidle, are you aware that your daughter had sustained these injuries?" the detective asked as he slid the pictures of Sara's injuries taken at the hospital forward on the table. "I assumed she had gotten hurt at a scuffle at school," her father said shrugging. "And you did nothing?" "She's gotta fight her own battles." The detective gave the forensic scientist in the room a look before turning back to both parents. "Mrs. Sidle, what did you think of your daughter's injuries?" Her husband shot her a look, which the detective noted to actually be an intense glare, and the woman slowly looked up. "I...I just thought she got hurt at school." The woman sounded scared, and the detective soon knew what to do. "Mr. Sidle, can you give me a moment alone with your wife?" The man glared at the detective before he was lead out of the room and his wife was soon alone in the room with the detective. "Mrs. Sidle...does your husband ever hit you or your daughter?" The woman quickly shook her head. "No, never." September 2, 1984- County Hospital "Good job Sara, thank you." Sara nodded as she was lead back to her room after the head exam and she laid in her bed. She looked up at the television positioned on the wall, but she watched it like a robot- her eyes were lifeless, her face bare of emotion. A woman walked into the room and noticed Sara's gaze. She cleared her throat, making Sara jump. "I'm sorry, my name is Patricia, I'm with the police department." Sara knew what was coming. "You want to question me." The woman smiled. "You're a smart little girl." Sara didn't say anything and the woman pulled up a chair next to Sara. "Can you tell me how you got those injuries?" Sara stared at the wall in front of her, not sure of what to say. Should she tell them? Tell them that her father enjoyed hitting his wife and daughter? What would happen if she did, would he get even angrier if he found out what she said? "I get hurt at school." The woman wrote something down in her notebook before looking back up at Sara. "Why?" "Kids don't like me." The woman responded with a weak nod before writing something else down and clearing her throat. "Sara, do your father or mother ever hit you? Yes! Yes, my father hits my mother and I all the time! Help me! she thought. "No." September 2, 1984- 8:30 pm- Sidle Residence "We apologize for the misunderstanding..." the officer standing at the door started. "Yeah, you better be," Mr. Sidle said before slamming the door. He turned to his wife and daughter. He pointed at Sara. "You- get in your room. Now." Sara limped over to her room as quickly as she could. "You," she could hear her father talking to her mother. "Fix dinner." Her mother obeyed and went to the kitchen looking around for pots and pans. Sara sat in her room, again hugging her blue hippo. She looked at the stuffed animal- it was ripped in certain places and the eyes were beginning to fade. She felt warm tears falling down her cheeks; she had been unaware that she had even been crying. She closed her eyes, holding the stuffed animal close to her chest in her arms as she drifted off to sleep. September 2, 1984- 11:37 pm "I didn't tell them anything, John!" Sara woke up startled at the sound of her mother's frightened voice. "You sure about that, Laura?" came her father's voice. "Yes!" Sara cracked her door open, but her father heard. "You! You close that door you little runt!" Sara quickly slammed the door out of fear of being hit. She heard her mother scream and hit the floor. She couldn't take it anymore. She threw the door open and walked over to her dad. She jumped on his back. "Gah! Damn it, get off of me, you little bitch!" Sara threw her arms over her dad's face so he couldn't see. Her injured arm had become a weapon and she whacked her father across the head. He backed up and rammed her into the wall and she fell off of him, winded. "Leave her alone, John!" Sara looked up to see the blurred figure of her mother pleading with her husband who only looked down at his daughter. Sara watched as he kneeled down beside her and then stood up. He walked out after grabbing his jacket. Sara could only guess where he was going. Her best guess was that her father was going to go to some club or liquor store, get incredibly drunk, and then come back late the next day with a hangover asking himself how he got so drunk. Sara looked at her mom as she walked over to the kitchen and started on the dishes, as usual. Sara crawled back into her room and closed the door. She found her blue hippo and squeezed it with all her strength. A loud crack of thunder was heard outside and she curled up in the middle of her room into the fetal position. She wrapped a small blanket around herself and drifted off to sleep as her mother continued to wash the dishes while her father was out getting drunk. She could only imagine what her birthday was going to be like. Most likely, her mother would force her to invite people she despised most from school to come over and 'celebrate' her birthday. Of course, this would only be if her father was out that day. She appreciated the fact that her mother would try and throw her a party, but she knew a long time ago she would never have a real party ever again. There were too many things she would have to hide, too many things she would have to make lame excuses up for. She would much rather go to the library and read all that day. Her mother and father wouldn't care, they would fail to notice she was gone in the first place. She enjoyed the library, she frequented it often and the librarians were actually very nice people. They knew Sara was a bookworm, so whenever they got new books in, they sent her letters and set copies aside just for her. She had been a proud customer of the library for five years now, and her library card was worn-out and ripped. They didn't care, however. They knew she was a very responsible girl for her age and she always returned the books in the same condition they were when she borrowed them. Now, her thoughts went back to her birthday. She was dreading that day...September 16...the number '16' made her shudder. She could imagine what would happen- there would be old beer bottles thrown around the house and her father would be out in the recliner in the living room, snoring. Her mother would be trying to clean as much as she could and Sara would be sitting alone in her room, holding the paper party hat she had made herself and blow out the imaginary candles on her imaginary cake. She would pretend everyone was clapping and wishing her a happy birthday. The sad thing was, imagining all of this was better than actually living the moments. TBC
Next part: September 15, 1984 It was raining. Sara decided it was rather fitting since her birthday was the next day. She sat with her knees up to her chest in her room. It was dark- she didn't bother to turn on any lights. Her casts were becoming increasingly annoying and itchy. Luckily, her casts were water-proof, so she could take a shower with ease...it was harder to get dressed and undressed, actually...pantlegs getting stuck and shirt-sleeves getting caught on the cast... Sara looked around her room. She had been sitting in this same spot for about two hours now. Almost her entire body was going numb, yet she did not move. She couldn't get the thoughts of what could happen the next day out of her mind. Her father had come home late that morning, more than a little drunk, and the second he got inside the house he collapsed on the floor. Her mother was surprisingly taking a nap that day and not trying to clean something. Sara got up from her place on the carpet and cracked her door open. It made more noise when it opened than she would have liked, but she stepped out of her room, sighing in relief to find her father still sprawled out on the floor unconscious and her mother still sleeping soundly on the couch. Sara walked into the kitchen on her tip-toes and opened the refridgerator, getting the carton of orange juice out. There was only a little left, so she drank from the carton and discarded it in the garbage can underneath the sink. She walked past her father and had to hold back the urge to scream when she felt her father's hand grab her foot. Her father's eyes were still closed, but he had a smirk across his face. Sara could only guess what he was dreaming of she slapped his hand, making him drop her foot and she walked off to her room. Closing the door, she looked out the small window she knew she could still easily climb out of. It would be a little hard, she decided, though, with a broken ankle and a broken arm. She instead climbed onto her bed and curled up in her blankets. If worse was yet to come, Sara's relatives would come into town to 'wish little Sara a happy birthday' as they put it. They were just as bad as her parents- her mother's mother was just as obsessive over cleaning and just as frightened and her father's father was just as intimidating and just as obsessed with alcohol as her father. If they weren't going to come, which Sara hoped with all her might, she was only left with her drunken father and her mother, who, on occasion, sought comfort from the bottom of a bottle. Maybe her idea of running away and forming a group of rebels wasn't as bad or out-there as it sounded. Maybe she really could do that and meet other kids like her. Other kids whose families didn't really love each other. Maybe she would meet kids who were perfectionists, and find out they only tried to do better than average because they thought it would earn the love of their families. She decided against it- they would probably die being out on their own, and Sara wasn't good with people, no matter who those people were. So...tomorrow Sara Sidle would be 12-years-old...wow. She didn't see what there really was to celebrate, except for the fact that she was that much closer to leaving this hell-hole called a home. Sara heard a groan coming from the living room and she opened her door. She walked through the hallway and in the living room she saw her father finally coming to. Her mother's eyes fluttered open the second her father got to his feet, and she headed to the kitchen to clean. He looked at Sara. "Daddy's got some hangover." Her father thought what he said was humorous- Sara didn't, since she had heard it way too often. "I wish you wouldn't drink so much, Dad." He stood up stretching and ruffled her hair. "I've got a surprise for you. Go get your shoes on." "I don't like surprises." "I know you don't, but you're going to have to live through this one," he said with a wink. She sighed. "What is it?" "If I told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise now, would it?" Sara shrugged. "I guess not..." He smiled as he walked into the kitchen. Sara went back to her room, now pacing back-and-forth frantically. What the hell is he thinking? He never remembers I have a birthday. What does he have up his sleeve? She sighed and sat back down on the carpet, rocking herself back-and-forth. Whatever it was her father had planned, she was hoping it wasn't going to be something that would later result in a heated argument between wife and husband...or daughter and father. She sighed as she slipped on her sneakers and grabbed her jacket. She cracked her door open and looked to see her father actually waiting for her. "Alright, let's go!" She followed her father out of the house as he led her to the car. In truth, it wasn't really a car. It was a chunk of metal with four doors, four...erm..thr-, no wait, yeah, four wheels...one rear-view mirror...and four seats...well, they were sort of like seats...you could sit on them...but god-knows-what they were made of or filled with. She got in the back-seat and her father got in the driver's side. He put the key in the ignition and the car started...but it sounded more like something was dying than a car starting. They drove off in the rain, the windshield wipers moving back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. Sara was wondering what she had agreed to do. She was expecting something she wouldn't want to do, or that she would be going somewhere she didn't want to go. "We're here- daddy's home away from home." Sara couldn't see outside- it was raining too hard and the rain was pouring down much too quickly. "Where are we?" "You'll see, honey." She sighed as she got out of the car and her father led her over to the building they were going to. All Sara could make up were bright lights flashing every now and then and loud music pouring from the building. "Dad..." "Yes?" "Is this a club?" "Bing, bing, bing! You guessed it!" "Dad!" "What?" "Why are we in a strip club?" "Because I want you to live the life of an adult tonight!" Oh god, the life of an adult? This wasn't what every adult did! Not everyone went to strip clubs and got drunk all the time! "DAD!" "Just sit here, Sara." Sara sat down in the far corner of the building. The loud music was making it hard for her to hear anything or think for that matter, and the lights flashing everywhere was making it hard for her to see anything. She did, however, see her father walk off and go straight to the dancers. She lowered her head, covering her ears and trying to make everything go away. As hard as she tried, the music and the bright lights would not go away. She was here, and she had no idea how long she would be staying. After a few hours, Sara was almost asleep, but she opened her eyes when her father walked over to her. He looked happy, at least. Sara could tell he was drunk, but he looked like he had had a good time that night. "Can we go?" Sara asked, rubbing her head. It was late in the morning, Sara could only guess. "Are you kidding?" he asked. Sara shook her head. "The fun's just getting started!" He ran over to the bar and came back with a beer in his hand. Sara had closed her eyes, attempting to fall asleep, and so she failed to realize that her father had the full intention of forcing the beer down his daughter's throat against her wishes. He held her head up (she had no idea what he was going to do), and he squeezed the mouth of the bottle between her lips. The fowl liquid traveled down his daughter's throat and she choked on it's horrid taste. "Dad!" He smiled as he walked off to the dancers once again. Sara rubbed her head- she was 11-years-old and already a boozer. She put her head down, wishing for the taste in her mouth to just disappear, but it lingered for some time. Every time she looked up, she would see her father throwing his money away while someone danced for him, or a half-naked woman walking past her. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, happy birthday... Happy birthday to me.
OMG! This is so sad!!! I love the story even if it almost makes me cry! Keep it up, its written great!
POOR SARA! this is so sad but this is so good its got to be one of my favorites cant wait for more well done
Im glad it makes you feel good! now that your feeling wonderful with all the great feedback, you can post another chapter! lol .. cant wait for more!
Just got around to finishing the sixth chapter: September 16, 1:15 pm After a few hours of sitting stiffly and holding back the nausea that was passing through her body, Sara finally had enough and stood up. Woozy and dizzy, she walked around the building searching for the man responsible for bringing her to this place and pouring the large amount of alcohol down her throat. She had no idea how much he gave her- she lost count after three bottles when things started to get blurry. The building had quieted down considerably, and the lights were now dimming. Beer bottles and cups with shots of tequila litered the small club, not to mention the discarded clothing lying around. Sighing, she pulled back a sheet on the floor and scoffed when she saw the drunken figure of her father lying on the floor with a liquor bottle in his left hand, his other hand was around one of the dancer's waists. She nudged him with her foot. "Dad." No answer, he didn't even flinch. "Dad." She said it louder this time. No answer. "Dad!" She nudged him harder and this time he acknowledged her with a groan. "Dad..." He opened his eyes a little and squinted at the little light shining through the room. He moved his arms around trying to identify the figure standing over him. Sara held her hand out and he grabbed it. "Hey baby." He had a smile on his face as he pulled her closer to him. "Dad! It's me!" He groaned and let go of her hand. She stood back up. "Dad, it's past one o'clock." "Mm-hmm." "Dad." "What?" "Let's go home." He groaned again and turned over, his head turned away from his daughter and he buried it in the sheet on the floor in defiance like a small child. "Dad..." "You can go home yourself." "Dad, I'm 12-years-old." It was the truth. Sara had been born at 7:47 am on September 16. "So drive yourself home." She rolled her eyes. He was too drunk to understand anything she was saying. "Fine, I'm going home." She turned her heel and walked off. She grabbed her jacket, which had served as a bed the night before, and wrapped it around herself as she made her way out of the building. It was dark and cloudy still, and a cold wind was blowing against her. She took a deep breath and started on her way home. Some birthday. I never would have guessed Dad would've taken me to a strip club. I'll give him one thing- the man knows how to surprise you. She rolled her eyes- the nauseaous feeling she had was growing stronger by the second, and she had to hold back the urge to run over to an alley and just empty the contents of her stomach. She swayed back and forth every now and then, but she was determined to make it to her house. If nothing else, she would collapse outside the doorway. Then maybe at least her mother would know she had tried to make it home. Unable to bare it anymore, she ran into an alley and threw up. She leaned against the brick wall as she brushed the hair away from her face before throwing up again. Now I know what a hangover feels like. She would have much rather preferred to read about it than actually experience it firsthand. So this is what Dad does everyday. She turned and headed back home. Just make it home. To her luck, her home was about a mile and a half away. The soles of her sneakers were beginning to fall apart, and her feet were freezing from stepping in the large puddles that had formed from the rain. Note to self: buy new shoes. The thin jacket she was wearing was almost five-years-old. Her parents believed in putting all items to full use before replacing them. Sara's fingernails were digging into her skin through the thin fabric of the jacket. She was freezing, and her entire body was going numb from being out in the cold. She could see her breath every time she exhaled, and she was paler than usual, but she had no idea if it was from the cold or the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Just a little further... She tried her best to reassure herself, but she knew damn well she wouldn't be home for a while since she was at least a mile away from her neighborhood. She walked past the street to her school and shuddered- school was one of the last things she wanted to think about at the moment- it definetly wasn't helping the naseasous feeling she had. She wondered what her mother would do when she found out about her husband taking her father out for a little late night party. Her mother would most likely not try and play the hero and chew out her husband for it, so Sara would wander off to her room with a bucket and a wetted rag and every time she needed to empty her stomach, she wouldn't have to leave her room. How convenient. Sara didn't want to face her parents again, especially her father. She needed to leave this life behind her. What would it make her into when she got older? Would she turn into one of those old ladies who stays in their homes all the times with over a thousand cats? Slowly, she made her way up the road. She was walking up a rather large hill, and every step was an effort. She almost fell over and rolled down the hill, but she firmly planted her feet on the pavement before she lost her footing. When she finally made it up the hill, she sighed with relief and exhaustion. She walked as fast as she could with a broken ankle, and when she finally made it home, she knocked on the front door. No answer. "Mom!" She knocked again, but she still got no answer. She sighed and went around the house. She put her good foot on a small piece of wood for a boost, and then she threw her other leg over the fence. As she lifted her upper torso over the fence with her good arm, the back of her jacket got caught on the top of the fence. Now, she was hanging by her jacket. The wires tore through the thin fabric, but not enough to tear her free of hanging by her jacket. "This is ridicu-" Before she could finish her sentence, her jacket was torn from the fence and she fell face-first onto the ground. "Ow." She made her way to her feet, and she got on top of the trash can outside. She lifted herself up and opened the window in her room and slid through it, doing a 180-degree flip before landing on the floor in her bedroom. "Finally." She got up and opened her bedroom door. She covered her nose when the overly strong scent of alcohol filled her nostrils. She turned the corner and saw what she was expecting- her mother sprawled out on the floor surrounded by bottles of scotch and brandy. She walked over to her and shook her. "Mom." Nothing. "Mom." A groan. "Mom, you fell asleep." She didn't have her eyes open, but she was stirring. "Huh?" "You fell asleep." "Oh..." she rubbed her head, eyes still closed. "Where were you?" "Dad...dad took me out." She sat up. "I thought you two left me." As her mother reached for another bottle of alcohol, Sara pulled it away. "No, mom, we're not leaving you." Her mom groaned as she got to her feet and swayed. Just before she collapsed, Sara caught her. "Mom..." The woman fell into unconsciousness. Sara rolled her eyes and grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and slid it under her head. She got up and slid the remaining pieces of her jacket off and threw them in the trash. She got a glass of water and sipped it slowly, the cool liquid feeling wonderful on her throat. She put the glass in the sink before walking back to her bedroom. This is just fabulous. She sat in the middle of her room indian-style, as best she could. She lowered her head and rubbed it. At least the nauseaous feeling she had before was somewhat disipating. She couldn't go on in this house- god only knew what her father had planned for her thirteenth birthday. By the time she turned eighteen, she expected herself to have almost completely fallen to pieces. She knew any life was better than the one she was living now, but she was scared to find out what would happen if she got caught. She got up and opened her closet door. She looked at the small amount of clothes she had and picked a long-sleeved t-shirt. It would provide little warmth, but she no longer had a jacket. She looked down at her sneakers- they definetly weren't going to hold up much longer. She slipped them off and walked into her parents' bedroom. Spotting the sewing basket, which her mother never used, she grabbed it and carried it to her room. She took out a spool of thread and started trying to sew up the sides of the sneakers. Hopefully, the shoes would hold up for at least a few days. The least she could do was bring her father back to make her mother stop drinking. She made her way to the living room and sighed as she looked at the sprawled figure of her mother lying on the floor like a beached whale. She opened the door and walked out, preparing herself for the long walk back to the strip club. Why am I doing this? What have they done for me? What do I care if my father stays at that strip club for the rest of his life? Despite her thoughts, Sara's legs kept moving toward the strip club. Her body was on auto-pilot. Only her subconscious was in her control. She felt like a robot being controlled with a remote. As many times as she told herself to stop and just go back home or run away, her legs continued to move closer to the strip club. When she arrived, she opened the doors and saw her father actually standing on two feet. The dancers were now up, and he was just beginning to down some more shots of scotch. "Dad!" He turned and stared at his daughter with a puzzled expression on his face. "The hell are you doing here?" "I left about an hour ago, but mom's out on the floor, so I came back here to get you." "I'm not going anywhere." "Yes you are. You're going home right now." She walked up to him and grabbed his arm. He laughed as she pulled him away from the dancers and he dropped the bottle of scotch. She led him around the corner and he started leaning more and more on his daughter, his eyelids drooping. "Dad. N-No, dad, you can't fall asleep." His eyelids were now closed completely and they stayed that way. His feet were starting to drag as Sara led him to their house. Now his full body weight was on her, and she grunted every time she moved, him now riding on her back. "Dad, you have to wake up." No answer. She sighed. "Dad, please, come on- wake up." He didn't move and she glanced up the hill on the road. She took a deep breath before making her way up the hill. She almost lost her balance a couple times, but she quickly regained her composure and made it up the hill. As quickly as she could, she made it to her house and threw the door open, collapsing on the floor with her father rolling off her back. The commotion woke her mother. "What? Who's there?" Sara grunted as she got to her feet. "I brought back Dad." She sat up. "Where was he?" "Where do you think he was? His 'home away from home'." Her mother noticed the sarcastic tone in her voice and turned to her unconscious husband. "What did he do?" She didn't want to mention him pouring bottles and bottles of alcohol down her throat. Her mother stood up and actually kicked her husband in the head. "Get up." Her husband groaned. "Don't kick me, Laura." He had been drunk all that time, but he still knew who kicked her. "I'm sorry, I won't kick you anymore. I'll keep this in mind next time you decide to beat the living daylights out of your family." That got him to his feet. "Don't do this." "I heard about your little birthday present to our daughter." He turned and gave Sara a death glare. Sara stood up and backed away. "Don't you hurt her, John." Sara was surprised- her mother actually was playing the hero this time. He turned and looked at her. "I was bringing my daughter into adulthood." Her mother even found this pitiful. "Adulthood? Is that what they're calling it now?" He balled his hand into a fist. "Don't start." "I'm sick of this, John. What's next, John, huh? What's next?" Sara wanted to stop it before it started. She walked in the middle of them. "Please, don't start...I-" She was interrupted by her father pushing her out of the way onto the floor, thus angering her mother. It was starting. "You bastard!" her mother yelled throwing a punch at her husband- she slugged him across the face before he got a hit on her. Her father slapped her before she kicked him in the ribs. This time, he slammed her face-first into the wall. Sara punched her father repeatedly, trying to make him stop. "Dad, stop it!" He turned around now to face his daughter. Trying to be the hero came at a price. He grabbed her good arm and slammed her side into the wall. She was winded, and she slowly slid to the floor holding her stomach, trying to find the breath that always seemed to escape her. Her mother ran to the kitchen and opened a drawer, throwing out spoons and tongs until she found what she was looking for- a knife. It was a long knife, maybe eight inches, and she ran at her husband. The knife dug into his chest and she stabbed him over and over again, ignoring her daughters' cries for her to stop. Sara ran into her parents' bedroom and grabbed the phone, trying desperately to get the image out of her mind. Blood and the occasional flash of silver. She dialed 9-1-1. "9-1-1, what's your emergency?" TBC