Moving On

When six-year-old Jessie is forced to leave her family home and move to live with her aunt in London, her life is about to change forever...

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1. Here Comes Father

'Jessica Katherine Jones! Get your butt in here NOW!' called a furious voice. His eyes where already bloodshot, even though it was hardly lunchtime. His body swaying back and forth, Jessica's father was almost never himself; always, and I mean always, was he drunk up to the point of beating his own children...

As the six-year-old hurried into the dining hall, almost forgetting to wave goodbye to her buddy and next door neighbor Daniel, her eyes widened as she saw her furious father standing by the door, with a half-empty botle of vodka in his left hand, and a leather belt in his right. A diamond tear rolled down her pink cheek; she knew what happens if she is late for lunch. Before she could say open her mouth to apologise (even though it would change nothing at all!), the man grabbed her short, black curls and dragged her into the living room, for everyone to witness the punishment.

Jessie's hair was once beautifully long, but that was a long time ago, when her mother was still alive, before her father started to beat his children. He chopped it all off one day, when Jessie was 'a bad girl'. That's what he calls her. A bad girl. He calls them all bad if they do something against his will. She didn't do anything, I would say, she just asked her father if it would be alright to go out with Daniel's mum to the cinema. She could then just tell from the way her father was looking at her, that she couldn't go. 'Why not?' she asked innocently. 'Why not?! Because you are not allowed to see that boy! Because I say so! Because you are not supposed to leave this house! EVER!' he rowed at her sweet face. She was only about 4 then; an innocent child. Though foolish sometimes. She asked, 'but... Daniel is my friend... why can't i see him?' Her father gave her 'that look', and grabbed her by the beautiful curls so hard, she gave out a whimper of pain. 'This should teach you not to ask questions...' the man said to himself, though looking straight in the eyes of the daughter he didn't know how he should love or hate. Snip snap. The hair was all piled up in the trash can. Leaving Jessie on the kitchen floor, motionless, her father made his way to the shelf holding his treasure: dozens of acohol bottles...

Silence, that's all there was when the pair of them walked into the living room. Not that nobody noticed them, they did alright, but they were much too frightened to turn around and watch their youngest sister get beaten until her blood left stains on the living room floor. They all sat on the sofa, waiting for lunch, not daring to move a muscle in case He was watching them. There they were, 8-year-old Hannah, 11-year-old Josh, and 14-year-old Tamara. She was the one who played the role of the mother. All of the children loved eachother, they loved Tamara the most though. She was the one to cook, wash, and put to sleep. She was the one they could safely hug, the one who's shoulder they would cry on.

They were'nt allowed to go to school. They weren't allowed to leave the house either. In case the police came, or in case they told someone about their terrible father. He kept them a secret. Nobody knew who lived in house number 43, Elm Road, in London, except the old drunkard Steven. The house looked ordinary from the outside, with an exception of overgrown grass and two crashed windows. Only two. Inside, it was compelety different: blood on the carpets, dusty furniture, paint coming off tthe walls, spiders silently crawling from one cobwed to another. The lights didn't work. To think this house was once wonderfully clean... But that was a very long time ago, when mother was alive, and the kids are not allowed to mention those times.

WHOOSH! The belt swung back. CRACK! It hit poor Jessica's naked bottom. At first, she felt nothin at all. But a split second later, the throbbing pain squeezed tears out of her brown eyes. She weeped for almost ten minutes, sitting on her bloody rear end, not being able to breathe or stand if she tried. The ghastly man, fed up with the mess and noise his victim was making, he kneeled down next to her, swung his hand back, and hit her red cheeks with all his strength. She sceamed.

At this point, Tamara couldn't wait any longer. She sprang up from the ripped up, blue sofa, and hurried to help her little angel. She kneeled down before Jessica, and opened her arms wide. Jessie threw herself into them, staining Tamara's flowery dress. 'You have to watch out, you know. You have to try and be good, or this i swhat happens' Tamara whispered into Jessie's small ear. She nodded, only sobbing now, though still in pain and devastation. She felt she needed to put an end to this, Tamara did too. But they were all too weak to face their own father...

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