Father To Daughter

• Kerry-anne Galbraith, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2010

The wall is cold, icy and hard behind her porcelain skin, but she still leans on it for support. She doesn’t have a choice. Her legs are weak, sore and bruised from the months, years of torture she has endured. Her fragile arms reach up to shield her face from his angry fists, but it’s a lame attempt. She cowers away from the tall burly man standing above her, sliding down the wall until her bottom touches the frigid wooden floor. Her knees instinctively come up to her chest, and she wraps her arms around them, hiding her face away in the small gap her knees and chest create. She understands what’s coming next. It’s happened almost every night since she can remember. Her long loosely curled raven hair falls over her shoulders as she curls up a little tighter, bracing herself for the punch she’s sure is coming. She steals a glance at her abuser, her father, large cerulean eyes looking fearfully at the brawny male.

She hates seeing his eyes. They’re wide, round and a deep sky blue. They’re identical to hers, and that thought makes her feel sick to her stomach. His savage beatings pour down onto her frail body, eliciting screams from her mouth after each blow. Her eyes water, but she knows better than to let them fall. On the inside the beatings are killing her. Slowly and painfully, and she wishes he’d realize she’s too young to die. But he doesn’t care. That thought makes her sick too.

A tenacious fist strikes at the vulnerable girl, and she yelps in agony. His words are bitter and acidic and he spits them at her, over and over. His knuckles begin to graze and he pauses. The girl curls up into a tighter ball, trying desperately to ignore the pain shooting throughout her body. It doesn’t take his knuckles long to stop bleeding and he takes up the beatings again.

A cumbersome silence grips the room. The only audible sound is his fight for breath and she knows that he’s finished taking his rage out on her. For now, anyway. Light reaches tentative fingers through the old sooty window as he throws open the bedroom door. He pauses, looking back at her. He hasn’t stopped to see if she is okay, but to see how many welts he’s left this time. His face seems to soften a little, and she knows what’s coming next. Those exact five words leave his mouth every time, ripping her to pieces and reducing her to tears once again.

“I’ll see you after school…”