Four Little Lives

Veronica's Life

Everything was so simple when I was young. Momma would cook dinner and set up the table.
Daddy would come home, laugh a hearty laugh, and sit at the dinner table. We'd say prayer and eat Momma's dinner. Then Daddy would tuck me in to sleep.

But that changed when Momma got a knock on her door. I hid behind her, clutching her skirts with my three year old hands.

"Mrs. Turks?" The uniformed officer had asked.
Momma nodded.
"We regret to inform you that your husband, Richard Turks, has passed away on duty."
Momma had cried out, started crying and sobbing. I was stunned.

I didn't comprehend the officers words. But I knew nothing was gonna be the same.

Momma had done her best to keep the house. It's was a fairly big house, two story, three bedroom, 2.5 bathroom. Momma scored a job at a really big firm, apparently scoring a lot of money from stocks. By a lot, I mean retire early and have enough money to pay the mortgage for twenty years or something. I had been excited. I thought Momma would be home more often. We'd have more time together.

But Momma would hardly look at me no more. She'd say things like 'you remind too much of him' or 'you have his eyes'. I had everything of Daddy, and Momma couldn't stand it. I learned that when I turned seven. She spat on me, sayin I was the reason Daddy wasn't gonna come home. She'd call me worthless. Pathetic. Everything else no Mama should call her child.

One day when I was twelve, I walked in on her hunched over a table. White powdery stuff lined in a perfect snowy line. Momma had a tube lookin thing that connected her nose to the white stuff. She sucked in through her nose and looked at me. Sayin, "You're the reason I do this."

I don't cry. I never cry. But I cried then. A single tear developed in my green eyes and I cried. Momma only laughed and shot up some more. I ran. I ran and hid in my room. Crying. Screaming. Sobbing in my pillow.

I met my first true friends when I was 13. Milana, a overly thin 10 year old girl. And Katy, a normal acting 12 year old girl. I learned to deal with Momma when I had qthem around. At least, I thought I could. But one could only deny the tempting call of cocaine for so long...


Milana's Life

Fate was never kind to me. Always lookin the other way if I asked for help.

I never knew my Dad. Which I guess would be a good thing, now that I think about it. Why would I want to meet a man who had fucked a prostitute and gotten her pregnant?

Course, when I was younger I didn't understand that little factor. Didn't know what my Mom did to get food on the table. It was nice then. She always tell me to go to a friends house. I never did though. I never did that well with making friends at a young age.

But I did meet a girl name Emily. She was nice enough. I'd always play Barbies at her house with her Momma. But her Dad was in prison for rape. I didn't know what that word meant because I heard her Momma talking to someone over the phone about it. I knew right away it was a scary word with a very terrifying meaning. But I was young. Didn't know better.

I'd go to Emily's house practically everyday when I was 9. Even though her daddy was back from prison he seemed really nice. Always wanting to play dolls with Emily and me. I should of saw it coming.

I was walkin to Emily's house. Her Mama's car not there. I had knocked on the door. Someone yelled to come in. I opened the door. Emily's dad was right in front me. Had me pinned down. I screamed. Struggled. Fought. But couldn't break away. All I was able to see was Emily crying in the hallway.

After he was done. My body was black and blue. He shoved me outside. Threatened my life if I told. I ran all the way home, crying. Momma was in her room with someone. I had ran to my shabby room. And cried.

Two days later I hadn't eaten. My stomach was hurting from lack of food. I had tried to eat, but every time I took a single bite of food Emily's dads face slithered its way into my mind, like a cat pouncing on a mouse. The memories kept on running till I shoved my hand down my throat and threw up my stomach's contents. The memories stopped.

Mom's pimp usually never looked at me once, but when I started to actually grow something he looked me over more then once. Whispered in Mom's ear. She shook her head. I thought Mom would always protect me. But that proved wrong the day Mom let me go to Emily. You can't trust no body, only your friends.


Katy's Life

I'm nothing special. I've been told it countless times by daddy. Even when I was young, I never did anything out worldly. Not like my brother, Liam. He's a star at foot ball and I'm just there.

Janet, our momma, left me an Liam to 'travel the world' she had said to daddy. Liam was older, so he remembered it the most. He told me stories of how Janet and Richard fought all the time. Constant screaming. Liam told me that they stopped when Janet was pregnant with me. But I think he just told me that to make me feel better.

When I was seven, that's when the beatings started. Over simple things, like talking or not sweeping the floor. It was first his hand on the butt. Then the belt. Then he started to smack me. Not long after he just skipped to hitting. Calling me a bad girl and that I was always needed punishment.

Liam would yell at Richard to stop. But then Richard only started hitting Liam. Bouncing him around. Then Richard starting taking out most of his frustrations out on us. Leaving us black and blue.

Once me and Liam couldn't go to school we hurt so bad. Richard took care of us then. Said he wouldn't ever drink again. And for about six months he didn't. Then he got fired. And it all to started up again.

Liam did his best to protect me. I tried my best to make sure he didn't get hurt too much. It was a never ending circle of abuse. And me a Liam were stuck in it.

I only told two people, Milana Morris and Veronica Turks. My only actual friends that haven't stabbed me in the back. But secretly I'm waiting, hoping they won't breathe a word. Cause if they do, me and Liam won't ever be together. Not till he turns eighteen. But Richard is getting a lot more violent.

......I'm scared.

Dimitri's Life

I've never met my ma or pa. Not once. Never have I gotten a letter, or a call. I've seen a picture of them. That's it.

I look like my mom. Black hair. Brown eyes. Pale skin. At least I have that pleasure. Although the kids my age wish they knew there parents. I'm glad I never met mine. They say my dad died in Iraq and my ma didn't want me.

Well, sucks for her. I've been hopped from foster family to foster family like a dish rag no one wants. Unlike other kids I don't care. I know I've never been loved. Good. Because I've never loved anyone back.

Never once have I got the pleasure of being happy just to come home. In fact I dreaded it. One foster family was bad. Would lock me in a closet if I had a temper. I always had a temper.

Yea. DHS didn't like that too much. Put me in this new place. I learned to not care.