8 Years of Hell

I try to imagine what life was like for my mother, being beaten by the man she loved, I'm not talking about a slap here or there, I'm talking beaten within an inch of her life. I always remember smelling blood, and the mess that was left behind, every time my Dad would get in that groove, where he'd just loose his mind. I don't remember a lot, a lot happened before I was five, but my Mother had no troubling tell me though, I was the reason she went back most the time. We lived in a house of fear, silently we would sit, trying not to make a noise, otherwise Dad would have another fit. Even I suffered from his wrath, apparently he would punch me across the room, my Mother would try to protect me, but she'd get a hiding too. 8 years of hell, she finally left, the courage she found to run inside, tired of being a gang members Missus, she ran so she could have a life. M.Mahauariki © 2012