Pain of the Innocent

Ever since I was little, just four years old, I was made to work. I did the chores and cooked the meals but got nothing in return. I was treated like a slave. They never appreciated what I did for them and said I should appreciate them for taking a freak like me into their home. I’d rather have been on the streets.

They potty trained me as soon as possible, which was merely two months after I arrived there, so they wouldn’t have to deal with changing me. I already knew how to walk by then so it was not much of a problem.

And by the time I could look over the stove, I was about five, I was made to cook every meal and when I burned something I was beaten, which was often as I was never taught to cook and had to learn by mistake.

And when I was six I figured out there was something strange about me, something freakish. I figured my aunt and uncle must know about it and that must be the reason they hated him so much.

I could talk to snakes. I could move things just by wanting them to move. Often I found myself without food for days and even weeks. When I wanted food bad enough it just appeared there. It was as though it was magic, which it was but I didn’t know that at the time.

I figured out I could talk to snakes when I was walking back to the Dursleys from the park. I heard a hissing voice but looking around I didn’t see anyone. At first I thought I was going crazy but then a snake slithered onto my path and spoke again.

“Another human, the filthy creaturessss,” the snake hissed to itself.

“D-did you jusssst ssspeak?” I asked the snake nervously, feeling very foolish at talking to the creature.

In surprise, the snake looked up. It surely would have narrowed it’s eyes if it was possible for a snake.

“Of courssse I did human. Why would I not ssspeak?” the snake asked, obviously annoyed.

“Well, sssnakesss don’t ssspeak. Everybody knowsss that,” I told the snake.

“It isss very rare for a human to ssspeak the language of sssnakesss,” the snake said cautiously.

I just walked away quickly. At first I believed I was going crazy but then I came up with another answer; I had another gift. I could talk to snakes and nobody else could. I could make things float and nobody else could. I was different, special. Of course I quickly dismissed the latter by telling myself that I wasn’t special but that I was a freak.

But I knew I had to keep my gifts a secret from the Dursleys. Surely they would be mad that I was so… freakish. Sure I was beaten but that was only a few slaps every now and then; if they found out I would surely end up near death.

I looked and looked but could not find anything about my gifts in the library. The only things similar were in fairy tales but this was no fairy tale; this was real life, my life.

But through this searching I found out I enjoyed reading. In kindergarten I learned to read but most of those books were books for little kids and were uninteresting. I only read in private when at that house so the Dursleys wouldn’t see me happy. Reading was how I kept my mind off everything they did to make me miserable.

All the while I practiced my gift and found I could do almost anything. There was so much to learn, I knew, but there was no one to teach me. I doubted there was anybody like me out there.

But at seven I snapped. I couldn’t take it any longer. The beatings got worse and worse until I was nothing more then a broken and bleeding heap. It made my uncle even angrier when I was nearly completely healed the next morning because of my gift.

It was midnight of July 31, 1987 when I finally had had enough.

My uncle ‘snuck’ into my cupboard under the stairs. I could hear the loud footsteps as he walked down the stairs. I didn’t know what to expect because he always slept through the night. I knew something was going to happen and I knew I wouldn’t like it one bit.

He opened the door and entered. There was a purely disturbing grin on his face. It was the kind of grin he got when he was about to beat me particularly bad. But there was something else; there was lust shining through those malicious eyes.

I tried to back up against the wall as far as I could but one of his large, meaty hands grabbed my shoulder to hold me still. I looked up with fear written clearly on my face. I was pale and shaking. This was more then a beating.

He punched me in the nose and spat out insults at me. He kicked me and beat me with a belt causing welts to cover my torso and back. My shirt was ripped where the blows struck. Blood was leaking from most of the wounds and my nose was broken. The kicks caused a few broken ribs which in turn caused me to have labored breathing. Tears soon began to leak from my eyes.

But that wasn’t the end.

He took his pants off and then ripped my clothes off. He forced me on my stomach which caused me to sob. I didn’t know what was going on, but I had an idea and I really hoped I wasn’t right.

But I knew I was right when he thrust into me. There was no preparation and no lubrication except for the blood that soon came.

I screamed as soon as he entered me; as soon as he stole everything I had left. I screamed and screamed from the pain and humiliation. I screamed until no sound came out but pitiful whimpers. My throat was raw and hurt but it was nothing compared to the hurt my uncle was causing.

It felt as though I was being ripped in two. It seemed like hours before he finally came with a shudder inside me. Sneering down at me, he pulled his pants back on and left. I was left a sobbing, bloody heap on the floor. If this was what sex feels like, I thought, then I’ll never have sex.

I snapped.

I lost everything to that man! My innocence, the only thing of value I had left, was stolen away from me brutally.

I allowed darkness to envelope me and I abruptly passed out.

I awoke the next day nearly completely healed as usual. My broken ribs were mostly healed and though they were cracked, my breathing was much better. I had stopped bleeding so profusely and my nose was no longer broken. I was bloody though and that wouldn’t do.

Sneaking out from my cupboard, I went to go see what time it was. Through the window I could see a faint pink line slicing through the horizon. It was about five thirty to six in the morning. That was plenty of time to wash up before the Dursleys woke up.

After the shower while I was on the way to my cupboard it finally sunk in. My uncle raped me last night. It brought more tears to my eyes. I sat there in my cupboard and just cried until no more tears came. All the hatred that I had been harboring over the years was about ready to burst. I needed to do something and I had the perfect plan.

A/N: I didn’t really like the story in third person point of view so I rewrote chapter 2 in first person point of view. I also changed some things about it.

Okay, here’s a poll.

I’m going to have Harry change his name. I can’t decide what I want his name to be so please vote.

Vince-
Kira-
Dante-1
Damian-
Jalen-
Alexander-1


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