September 12, 2010
By arsparfven BRONZE, Swansea, Massachusetts
arsparfven BRONZE, Swansea, Massachusetts
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I would never, I would never have let this happen. I wouldn't have done it, if I had a choice, if I could have stopped it, if I could have changed whose hands I was in.

I'm a happy guy, I'm good, cheerful, young. I'm the star of the baseball equipment; I make the hits, I'm there for the practice swings and the home runs. Recreation, that's all I'm about. I didn't know what I was capable of.

I belong to this kid named Timmy. He was the sweetest thing you've ever met, nicest boy on the whole team. Little thing was only 8, been playin' for a few years. That kid was my best friend. I loved that kid, and that kid loved me. He didn't just toss me on the ground and forget about me, so sir. He kept me nice and safe on his desk when we weren't playin' outside, he cleaned me up when I got dirty, he was the best. He loved everythin' he had, he was responsible out of his mind too. The kid's only 8, and he's already responsible. He was gonna do great things, and he had such a skill at his sport. Always did his homework with no problems, had tons of friends. I can't blame nobody for bein' friends with that kid. Nicest kid I've ever known.

His dad weren't so nice. His dad was a lush, and a mean one at that. He'd come home pissed off his rocker every night. Hit mom, hit Timmy. I could hear it all the way upstairs. He was mean. Mom did whatever he said, he hit her anyways. Timmy didn't do nothin' wrong either, stayed out of the way mostly. But he didn' like it when that mean man hit mom. Not even nine and he'd stand up for her, he loved her like crazy. I wish they could have gotten away. Away from the yelling, the beating. The sound of the belt on that kid's back, mom sobbing in the corner. He said they were injuries from his sports. He was an optimist too, all the while. You'd never know, unless you were in that house most nights. I was glad I could only hear it.

Except one time, I saw it. I more than saw it. I was in the kitchen see, they were leavin' and his dad ran early. Early but more pissed than usual. Pissed and angry. Mom was packing, she had a gun. I was glad for them, leavin'. He wasn't. He threw a glass of whiskey at her. Cut her face, made her bleed. He beat her, and he screamed, and he yelled. Words, words of the kind nobody should ever hear, especially not such nice people, or such a young kid. The names he called her, the things he said. He started tearing off her dress, and Timmy jumped on him, sent him into the kitchen counter. His dad smacked him hard, and I was right there, right on that counter, and to see that, I couldn't bear it. Timmy was sent back by the hits. But, that wasn't good enough. I went up through the air and I could feel the bone break under me, the blood dripping down my side. I went up, and down, and up, and down. Red splattered everywhere, screams from the corner. By the time that man was shot down, I couldn't even tell who Timmy was anymore.

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