The Fear of a Child

She was sitting in her closet, back in the corner, hiding behind the hanging clothes. Body shaking. Tears streaming. Her eyes were puffy, and tears were streaming. She never wanted to come out of that closet again. Feelings of wanting to die going over and over in her mind. So young, only eight years old. It was Sunday morning. Darkness all around her. Tummy growling. She was hungry. Silence was in the house. Everyone was still asleep. How long had she been in here? She had no track of time. She was sleepy, but eyes would not close for fear of him coming back. She heard a knock on  her door. Her body became rigid. It was her mama. Letting her know it was time for breakfast. She sat very still. Again, the voice demanding she come down for breakfast. Letting her know she was wasting her time making her stand her and yell at her. She crept out of the closet so quietly, and walked to the door and opened it. Her mama walked away when she saw her. Fear still alive, she made her way to the breakfast table. The cereal was not able to find its way to her tummy and she vomited right there on the table, spilling on to her clothes and to the floor. Her papa got up, screaming profanities at her. She was left to herself at the table, forced to clean  up her own mess. The day went by very slowly, not coming out of her room unless by demand. Next day was school. There was a special speaker from the police department. Back at the classroom, she timidly went up to the teacher and told her she wanted to tell her something. The teacher noticed tears starting to stream down the child’s face. Teacher placed someone in charge, and put her arm around the little girl and walked them to the principle’s office. There she told what had happened on Saturday night. Parents were taken to jail, and she was safe at her grandma and grandpa’s house. Light began to enter her life again.