<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar/537362980959146402?origin\x3dhttp://mushopea.blogspot.com', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>
Image 01 Image 02

Wednesday, July 21
Piazza, New York catcher, are you straight or are you gay?
And i thought i forgot.
I was crying.

It started when the kid next door was pleading "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

And then.
"Stop! I'm sorry! Stop!"
And on, and on, and on.

And then a few minutes later he was crying, crying like mad.
And there was someone shouting at him, and he was crying non stop.

It was all so loud. All so real. I could hear it from next door.
I stopped doing anything. Paused my music, sat there and listened.

My heart just broke and I started crying.
For completely selfish reasons, I reckon. Mainly because I've been through this so many times.

He sounded so much like my brother.
It was like watching a video of what used to happen to us every week, a few years ago.

Sounded so much like us doing something small and getting caught and shouting "SORRY, SORRY, don't hit me, don't beat me, don't cane me" non stop.

She didn't listen. She just .. mercilessly brought the clothes hanger down on us, dozens of times. Or kicked us, or pinched our tummies/nipples, or bit our arms, slapped us, shook us, pulled out our hair, whatever.

Then when the ordeal was over we'd be crying.
Like crazy.
Like the boy.

Of course, we couldn't do anything when the other was getting tortured.
Interfere and get abused as well.

After each beat up session the tortured one would end up hating the other, because they didn't interfere, they didn't help. They were traitors.

But we knew the consequences of interfering. She was too violent, too cruel. Sure, two of us could overpower her, but we were too afraid to harm her. She, on the other hand, would continue to whip you even if you had blood forming at your arms.

We used to compare scars.

It was so fucked up.
And now i can't stop remembering and crying! Wonderful.

Labels:

◀ Previous posts                                                                       Newer posts ▶