(A/n): Most of you probably recognize this title. Yes, this is that book that I had, but I deleted it and rewrote it, and decided to just put it here instead. I hope you enjoy!

I finish writing in my makeshift diary and stuff it under my filthy mattress. The only things I own are a mattress and thin, frayed blanket, my diary, and a small, dirty doll that I found. I quietly go over to the corner of the attic, careful not to step on the squeaky board, and pull my doll out of the loose floorboard where it's hidden. I hop back onto the mattress and snuggle my precious doll.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps right outside my door. Panicking, I stuff the doll under myself. The door swings open to reveal my mother. She stomps over and throws the blanket off of me. She easily lifts me off the bed by the collar of my stained shirt.

"Why aren't your chores already done? You little..." Her eyes shift to the doll behind me. Setting me down slowly, she grabs the doll and holds it up to my face.

"What is this?" she asks, the dolly hanging limply between her fingers.

"Um....I found it...." I say quietly.

"Oh, you did?" she asks with a wicked grin.

I start to nod my head, but before I can finish the affirmative motion she slaps me hard, sending me roughly to my knees. She crosses the attic and opens the window.

"Say bye-bye", she says crudely, throwing the doll out the window.

I scream as it floats away; down, down, down. I clamp my hand over my mouth, immediately realizing my mistake. I scramble to get away from my mother as she walks toward me, menacingly. Too late I realize that I have crawled into a corner, trapping myself. She stands over me and places her foot on my rib cage, pinning me down. Her heavy foot starts applying pressure and I scream, hearing a crunch. Pain shoots through me. It feels like my torso is engulfed in flames. She releases her foot and bends down by my side.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" she says, her tone mocking. "Just like I didn't mean to have you."

She sneers coldly and walks out, leaving me strewn on the floor in agony. I grit my teeth until the pain finally subsides to a sharp throbbing. I ever-so-slowly make my way over to the mattress that I call a bed. Taking the blanket, I gingerly wrap it around my torso, making a pathetic brace.

It takes me ten minutes just to lay down on my bed. I lay there for the rest of the day, letting my body rest and my mind wander. I know I will have to get up tomorrow to do chores, no matter what condition I'm in. So, I will my body to heal as fast as possible and try to sleep.

I wake up the next morning, unsurprisingly, with aching ribs. Not wanting to get beaten again, I walk as quietly as possible down the rickety stairs and grab a towel and a bucket with freezing water in it. I grab the soap and squirt some in. Carefully, I dip the towel into the sudsy water and start harshly scrubbing the tiles on the floor.

"You think that's hard enough, you little brat?"

I gasp as my mother kicks me in the side of the head. My small body flies across the floor, landing on my sore ribs. Then, I black out.

I wake up screaming and shivering. Wherever I am, it's dark and cold. The air smells moist and stale, like moldy cardboard and mouse droppings. Once my eyes become accustomed to the dark, I notice a freezer next to me. I reach out and try to open the freezer, but it has a code lock on it. I lean back on the wall to think.

A deep, angry sound echoes through the garage. It's my stomach growling. I haven't eaten in three days.

Suddenly, a thought pops into my head, edging on the aching hunger. I scoot towards the freezer and enter in the numbers: 1984; my mom's birth date.

With a click, the lid pops open. I peek inside, and to my utter joy, there is loads of food. My stomach reminds me insistently of my hunger. I reach in and grab the closest thing. A pie, not just any pie, but a pumpkin pie. I rip open the package with glee and scarf it down. Bite by glorious bite, I stuff my face with an assortment of pies, frozen fruit, and anything else I can get my hands on. When I swallow my last bite and realize that I am finally full, I glance back into the freezer.

"Oh no", I whisper, horrified. It's almost empty.

I quickly shut the lid and lay back on the cold ground, pretending to be asleep as the ominous sound of footsteps appear from somewhere around me. They stop. Suddenly, I am blinded by a bright light coming from slightly above me and to the right. It illuminates the set of stairs that I hadn't noticed before. A witch stands in the doorway, smirking down at my trembling form.

"Enjoy your stay?" the witch, my mother, smirks even bigger.

I am scared to say anything, so I sit there in silence with my head hanging low. I feel something wet hit my face. I reach my hand up to wipe it off.

She spit on me, I think dully.

"Mmmmmm....."she says slowly, coming down the stairs. She walks around me to the freezer.

My breath hitches in my throat as she lifts open the lid.

She gradually turns and faces me, her eyes on fire. Time stands still as she stands there, staring at me in utter hate and disgust. Her face is red in anger, but it quickly fades, leaving her face calm. This scares me more than anything though. Then something unexpected happens. My mother smiles at me. Actually smiles. I inch back up against the wall as she walks towards me.

"How about I let you out?" she asks sweetly, but I'm not fooled by her kind mask.

I nod my head, expecting a strike, but instead she just nods back. She stands back up, rummaging through her pocket. She pulls out a key and unlocks the shackles. I squirm away from her as she suddenly reaches out to me. But she only caresses my greasy, unwashed hair.

"I'll go run you a nice, warm bath", my mother says warmly. My mouth drops open in shock and confusion.

This is a trick, my brain screams, but the thought of a warm bath is enough to shut the warning voice up.

She stands up and motions for me to follow. She leads me to the bathroom, sits on the edge of the tub, and starts to run the water. I uneasily remove my nasty clothing, all under her watchful gaze. She motions for me to get in, so I follow her orders, stepping into the tub. When the tub is full, my mother shuts off the tap and reaches for the soap. She hums an unfamiliar tune as she shampoos and conditions my hair, massaging the dirt and grime from my scalp. I start to relax and lay my head back on the faucet. She takes some of the warm water and pours it on my head, rinsing away the now brown soap.

I am enjoying this relief from the daily torture, but without warning, my mother grabs me by my hair and yanks me from the tub. Soaking wet and naked, she drags me into the clean kitchen and dumps me on the floor. I shiver as the cold air hits me.

"Do you really believe I love you? You're a little monster that ruins my life! Did you really think I changed all of a sudden? What a gullible little brat!" she hisses.

She grabs me again, pinning my hands behind my back, shoving me towards the stove. The sly old fox switches it on to high. The blue fire dances around, threatening and scary. My mother presses my face firmly on the stovetop. The smell of burning flesh and hair fills the room. Then the pain registers. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before; an ice cool and simultaneously hot sensation. Flames lick my face, wrinkling and discoloring the skin. I scream loudly, the sound piercing and strong. My mother yells and steps back, letting me go to cover her sensitive ears. I crumple to the wet floor, sobbing and clutching my burnt cheek.

"DIE AND GO TO HELL!" she shouts, spit flying onto my face.

I stand and run up to my room in the attic, my only safe place, my only refuge.

------

I grab my only other set of clothes and slowly put them on, relaxing a little as the scent of fresh pine washes over me. My face starts burning again, causing the scent to lose its desperate importance. I gasp at the unnatural cool-burning sensation. When I bring a timid finger to the wound, I feel a cluster of blisters blooming on my drooping cheek. Tears form in my eyes as the unbearable pain intensifies. I decide to take a risk.

I sneak down the stairs and go undetected to the bathroom, my awful mother nowhere in sight. I open the cabinet and reach up to grab the burn cream, which I hope will help. I snatch it up and stuff it into my shirt. As I turn around, I see my mother standing there. My heart slams into my rib cage like a bird desperately trying to break free.

"What are you doing?" she asks, scarily calm. I try to think of an excuse, but my mind stays blank.

"Stay here", she demands, so I stay, too scared to move anyways.

Soon, she returns with a bucket and a bottle of cleaning fluid in hand. She begins pouring the liquid into the bucket. When she has poured the entire contents of the bottle out, she reveals another container from behind her, and begins pouring that too.

In that moment, it dawns on me that something is not right.

She tosses the empty bottle into the trash, moves the bucket to the middle of the bathroom, and walks out, uttering a clipped, "Goodbye."

I jump up and go to the door, just in time to hear the click that signals the door locking. I slump down to the floor, knees to my chest and head in my hands. Curious sparks in my brain, and I get up again after a minute. I sift through the trash, finding the bottles that had held the liquids. My heart stops as I read the labels.

Bleach and Chlorine.

I panic and my head spins for a moment from fear and adrenaline. It becomes increasingly harder to breath as the seconds tick by, causing my vision to flicker.

No. No. This can't...this can't be happening.

I wobble over to the cabinet and grab a wash cloth. I sag over to the tub and get the cloth wet, then smash the soaking cloth to my face before I pass out. I suck in the much needed oxygen. My frantic heart beat slows as my aching lungs get the fresh air. I crawl over to the vent, where the fumes are less dense. But the air isn't on. My body slumps down as the fumes start to affect me again. I let out a final sigh as everything begins to disappear and darken.

Then, my mother simply opens the door, kicks over the substance-holding bucket, and drags me out of the bathroom. She drops me in the hall, rolling her eyes and giving me a look of disgust, and walks away. I lay there in the hall, coughing and spluttering, until my lungs have gotten enough air. I stand and go to the stairs that lead to my room in the attic, passing the kitchen as I do so. My heart beats at an almost unbearable speed as I hear the deep voice of a man.

Maybe it's a cop! Or a firefighter! Or someone to save me. Anyone. Please God....please...

With my hopes up, I walk around the corner, and into the kitchen to reveal myself. But instead of a handsome cop arresting my psycho mother, I see a haggard, dirty, fat man kissing her. I gag and my heart falls. He has short, brown, greasy hair and a big belly that shows through his stained tank top. He reeks of alcohol and sweat. I grimace as the stench wafts over to me. My nose wrinkles in disgust. I try to back away, unnoticed, but the floor creaks and my mother jerks back, startling the fat, stinky man. He spots me and growls, mad that I ruined the romantic mood.

Turning back to my mother, he says, "So this is the ugly brute you were talking about." He takes three giant steps to me and pins me against the wall.

"How nice to meet you. I'm Marco", he says. His hot breath smells of stale whiskey and beer. "Now, if you didn't notice, your mother and I were busy. So, how about you hop back up to you room and stay there, you filthy piece of trash!"

As he shouts the last words, he shoves me out of the room, and slams the door in my face. I turn around and limp up the stairs, into my room in the attic once more. As I reach the top of the stairs, I stick my hands in my pockets and am surprised to find the burn cream that I snuck earlier. I pull it out and quickly apply the cream to my burned face. Immediately, the sharp pain recedes to a dull throb again. I sigh and look out the window that is located in my tiny room. For once, all is calm and I sit and enjoy the bright glowing stars.

If only it was like this all the time, I wish.

With a yawn, I retire to my lumpy mattress. I curl up into a ball and cover my face with the blanket, wishing I still had my doll.

I wake up in the morning and stretch my sore body with a long yawn. A pang hits my ribs and I whimper. I sit and listen for a moment, listening to see if my mother or her boyfriend, Marco, are home. My mom works today, which is Saturday. I'm guessing Marco went to the store, because I hear nothing but silence.

Yawning again, I get up and slip down the uneven stairs. I immediately get to my chores, as to not provoke an attack from my mom. My first task is to clean the bathroom. I tidy up the items in the cabinet, scrub the floor, clean the toilet, and wipe down the sink and mirror. Then, I clean out the tub and spray down the walls of the shower.

When the bathroom is finished, I move on to the living room. This room is where my mother beat our cat to death a few years ago. It had been lost for a week, and when it showed back up....well, you get the point.

I dust off the TV and side table, beat the rug, wash the pillows and blankets, and sort my mom's movies by 'ABC' order. I walk to the kitchen and throw out all the expired food in the fridge. Then, I wipe off all the counters and the inside of the fridge. I sweep the floor, clean the stove and microwave, and take out the trash.

As I drag the smelly bag down the walk, I see a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting baby bird. I abandon my bag and sprint over, scaring the cat away. I gently pick up the bird and place it back in its nest.

I walk back to the bag and toss it in the dumpster. As I step back into the house, I see that the fridge is open and there is a broken beer bottle on the floor. The foul liquid is seeping out of the bottle onto the floor that I just cleaned. I grunt in annoyance, but really, I'm used to this sort of thing. Grabbing a towel, I squat down and begin scrubbing the floor again.

A shadow looms over me, blocking out the last of the day's sunlight. I gulp and slowly look up. Marco stands over me, a scowl etched onto his ugly face.

"Why were you drinking, you filthy swine?!" he shouts.

"I-I'm not!" I manage to stutter.

"How dare you speak to me, runt!" he booms.

He kicks me, sending me sliding across the kitchen. I hit the cabinets and I see black spots swimming across my vision. I try to stand, dizzy, but topple back to the floor.

"I'll be telling your mom about this, you ungrateful brat", he threatens."Now, clean it up", and with that, he stalks away.

I crawl over to the mess and pick up the glass. As I throw away the glass, waves of vertigo rack my body. I lean over the sink and vomit. I haven't eaten in two days though, so all that comes out is stomach acid. And it burns.

I sneak a little water in my mouth to rinse the nasty taste out. Spitting it out, I turn and finish cleaning up. My stomach growls, empty as ever. Looking around, I see that no one is coming, so I snatch a roll off the counter. I stuff it in my shirt, and then run to the stairs, ignoring the stinging pain in my ribs. I sit down on my mattress and let out a sigh of relief. I take out the roll and stare at it in amazement.

It looks delicious.

My stomach lets out an inhuman gurgle. Without further ado, I stuff half the roll in my waiting mouth. When I'm done, my eyes begin to lower with fatigue. I lean back, close my eyes, and drift off to sleep.

I wake up at the same time as I always do, ready to tackle the days chores. I sit up and turn around to get up.

My mother is sitting on a chair by my bed, staring at me. I scream.

There is a pool of blood underneath her chair. Her leg is bending at an unnatural angle. There is a thin slice on her neck, smiling at me. Her eyes are glazed and dull.

She's dead. My mother, the one who abused me all these years, is dead.

I choke back a sob. Rushing downstairs, I try to find my mother's phone to call for help. But I can't find her purse anywhere. I turn to look in the kitchen and I bump into Marco.

He is holding a bloody butcher knife in his sweaty hand. That's my mother's blood.

"Going somewhere?" he asks in his deep, gross voice.

"Uh....uh...." I stutter in fear.

"Mm.....didn't think so", he snarls. "Now, come with me."

He grabs my arm tightly and leads me up to my own room in the attic.

"Stay here, I'll be right back", he says, shuffling back down the creaky old stairs.

I gulp. I hear him looking for something, and then hear a muffled "aha" as he finds whatever it is. He stomps back up the stairs, with a rope in his meaty hands.

He's going to rape me, I think. Terror consumes me. He ties the rope around my neck.

"Now you'll be my new pet", he says, ignoring my mother's body."Except, I don't like pets", he growls, pushing me to the floor. I yelp as my knee smashes against the floor.

"Oh, does that hurt?" he sneers.

I ignore him and struggle to my feet. Despite the pain, I hobble to the door.

Why isn't he stopping me?

Suddenly, I'm yanked back by the rope and I fall to the ground again. I cry out in frustration. A large hand grabs my neck and drags me to the tiny window. I kick and scream the whole way, but it does no good against his heavy form. I lay against the wall, panting, as Marco ties the other end of the rope to a rafter in the low hanging ceiling.

"Now, I'm tired of you, so say bye", he says, his voice dripping in anger.

What? No. No, he can't, he won't, I think. Then I look over to my mother's body. Maybe he will, please, God, no. No.

He opens the window and turns to my shaking form. He walks to me, his footsteps echoing throughout the almost empty room. He grabs my arms and drags me to the window sill. I'm sitting on the edge, looking down. I see my old raggedy doll lying in the dead grass below. It's very high up, and suddenly I'm afraid of heights.

"No, please don't!" I plead, turning to Marco, panic lacing my voice.

"Oh! Poor baby is scared!" Marco says, mocking my scared tone. "Well, too bad!" he shouts. He reaches out and shoves me out the window.

I'm falling. The ground is rushing toward me. But then, the rope snags me to a halt. My neck burns. My head isn't on right.

Suddenly, I'm floating away, out of my frail body. I turn around and look at myself. A little girl, thinned by starvation, bruised from fists of anger and hurt.

I hear sirens in the distance. I turn and see three police cars pull up beside my house. The police officers jump out of their cars and sprint into the house, not even bothering to knock. A few seconds later, I see to police men dragging Marco, kicking and screaming, from the house. They cuff him and throw him into the back of a car. Three of the other policemen are still in the house. I see them grab the rope that holds me and pull my limp body in through the window. Half an hour later, the police emerge with two black body bags containing the bodies of my mother and me.

Now free, I turn away from the house that's held me captive all these years, and float away.

Word Count: 3710