Monsters
don’t just live in closets. Or in the movies. Or under the bed. Sometimes they
look just like you and me. They even trick other unsuspecting adults into
believing they’re wonderful people.
When these
monsters prey on their children, they scar the child forever. They even distort
something as simple as a child’s bedtime prayer into something dark and filled
with desperation.
Now I lay me down to sleep:
If I
stay real still with my eyes closed tight, maybe they’ll leave me alone for
just a little longer. I wish my blanket hadn’t slipped away but I don’t dare
pull it back over my shoulders. If they hear me move, they’ll know I’m awake.
I hear
him. His steps sound heavy. He’s bringing the bucket of water and ice. It
splashes on the floor as my bedroom door bangs open. I squeeze my eyes tighter
shut. I can’t move. There’s no place to hide and it will only make him worse. The
cold water makes me gasp. It hurts but not as bad as the sharp ice.
“Get
out of bed,” he shouts. “We have to cut wood today. You’re going to help and
you’re going to like it.” He whacks the bucket against the door facing as I
slide across the wet floor. “Get this mess cleaned up before you come to the
kitchen and don’t even think about telling your grandparents. They already know
how lazy you are.”
I can’t
wait for Monday. I get to go back to school.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep:
My
parents said I was the worst thing that ever happened to them, the biggest
disappointment of their lives. God won’t want my soul. I’m not good enough.
If I die before I wake:
Sometimes
I think it would be better to die. At least that way, they can’t get me anymore.
But the preacher said when we die; we all meet up in Heaven. They’re mean to
me. I don’t want to see them when we’re all dead. The preacher’s eternity
sounds like a long time for them to treat me bad.
I pray the Lord my soul to take:
No. I
don’t want the Lord to take my soul. He can take them and just leave me
someplace else. I’d rather be alone.
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