He will not break me as hard as he tries
He will not break me and I will not cry
I won’t show my fear only my love
As I hear the chair squeaking high up above
When that wretched door opens and lets light through
Then I will finally get to see you
As your shadow looms oh so near
A tray slides past me as I shed my last tear
There is not food or water on the tray
But simply a rope today is my last day
April 20th 1969
I don’t know how long I’ve been here for. My diary is all in my head but is so real to me. There are no windows or light. I was 13 when it all happened. I don’t know how old I am now. Everyone said I was crazy for the way I felt. Especially considering the man I love stopped loving me back a long time ago. But love isn’t crazy. Love is something that you feel. Maybe it’s to make you feel better about yourself or to help you get through a rough time. It was different for me though. It made me laugh and smile when I was in a bad mood and it made me want to live a little longer. But trama hit like a semi. And I became the one to blame. Always in the wrong no matter what. Now I’m down here. He put me down here. The sad part of it all is that I still love him. Now I don’t smile and laugh and I don’t want to live a little longer. All I want and all I need is for him to love me like he used to. Before I became the thing that took his only happiness away.
April 23 1969
Today the door opened. It was a slight crack but it was enough. His shadow loomed so near, but he was too far to touch. The tray was with him again. The shattering sound of metal clashing with concrete made my ears begin to ring. He may have mumbled something but I don’t know for sure. Then it was over and I was left in the darkness yet again. Does anyone else know I’m down here? Does anyone care? Will he ever love me again?
April 30 1969
The cold hard concrete is difficult to sleep on. I usually find myself thinking of what was before all this. I often go back to christmases. My father would hop down the stairs almost more excited than me to pick out our very own Christmas tree. He’d land on the last step and swoop me up into his arms hugging me tightly with that pure twinkle in his eyes. We’d get in the car and sing mediocre Christmas carols loving every minute of anticipation before the tree picking. We would bring the tree into the house and my mother would make the best hot cocoa. She had a Christmas twinkle in her eyes too. My parents were so in love, they acted as if everyday they were seeing each other for the first time all over again. My father would always hide a large tin of money and save it until he found the perfect gift for her. It would always be perfect. He’d do the same for me too because we were his two girls forever and ever. With the Christmas tree lit up in all its glory, we’d celebrate the perfect Christmas each one being better than the last.
May 2 1969
Today I had the dream again. “EVERYONE OUT.” My father screamed. But the planks fell and I was stuck again. I screamed the screams of agony again. I saw the exploding Christmas lights illuminating the burning tree again. I felt the burning house piercing my skin as if it was tissue paper. I heard the frightened cry of my mother and the struggled yelling of my father again. He was trying to stop my mother from saving me. “I can't lose both of you, I cant- can't lose you.” This was the most panicked I’d ever seen him. I was still trapped in the burning planks each second more smoke entered my lungs each moment my skin burned a little more. I couldn't speak nor could I cry for help. I stopped struggling accepting that this was my fate. This was how I was supposed to die. Then strong hands were grabbing me throwing me towards the almost incinerated door. I ran as fast as I could safely getting out of the house only to find my father's arms empty. Only to find the burning corpse of my mother engraved where I had been only seconds before. I was alive but I was hollow. The physical burns didn't compare to the incineration of my heart. No physical pain could ever be as much agony as realizing the person you loved with your whole heart and soul was dead because of you. No physical pain could ever be as horrible as realizing that I had just stolen the only thing my father loved. Now I am here. I deserve to be down here. As I awoke drenched in sweat, screams and tears, I could feel my burn scars more than ever.
                                                            May 14 1969
Dear diary it’s only one week later and he came twice. Those two days were the second worst days of my entire life. I can still feel the throbbing sensation in my upper lip where he smacked me. That didn’t compare to when he came in the next day. I was thrown against the wall. Too malnourished to strike back. I fell down into a crumpled up ball letting my wet tears fall onto the dusty floor. I can still hear the sound of the angry footsteps coming towards me. Each one promising a larger kick to the gut. Each stomp coming closer. Each boot click against the concrete felt as if I was killing my mother all over again. As the pain began to drown me I could no longer take it and everything when black.
                                                          May 16 1969
My mothers funeral was crowded. She had so many people who loved her as much my father and I did. She didn't have an open casket due to all the burns. There was no way to make her look as beautiful as she was before. It was probably a good thing because if I saw her I would have lost it.  My father didn't have to see her to lose it. The sobs he proclaimed were beyond words. His agony was now as pure as the twinkle he used to have during Christmas. It’s my fault. He made me realize that it’s truly my fault. If I would’ve have gotten out earlier she would be here. She would be with us and my father would still love me.
                                                       
  May 20 1969
I can still hear the loud crying and bottles breaking from up the stairs. I can still hear the screams inside my head telling me it’s my fault and I’m worthless. How does love change so quickly. Probably the same way the need to end everything comes so urgently. It’s my fault. I killed her. He hates me. It’s my fault. Maybe it's the constant hunger eating me inside out. Or maybe its the fact that i so deprestly want to end all this. My mother used to tell me that no matter how hard things get, no matter what i'm going through things will always get better. I used to believe that. I used to believe a
lot of things. I was naive and weak. And when you’re weak, life snaps you like a twig.
              
                                   
                                                      December 14 1969
I can tell it's winter. The walls are frozen again. The concrete is slippery and even more uncomfortable. It’s times like these I long for my warm cozy bedroom just one story up. I miss everything. There was a time when i complained about homework. A time when I refused to eat Broccoli. Now broccoli is all he gives me and im appreciative. Now if homework was my worst problem, i wouldn’t consider it a problem. I’m hurting inside and out, i am broken. I tried to be strong but he knows my every weakness. He hurt me with his words. He unleashed all his anger onto me. But my mother was strong and taught me how to love. So Dad, if you ever get the chance… if you ever care to read this. I love you..
    
                                                         December 16 1969
There is but one thing on the tray. There is one diary entry left. But soon there will be no me. I will soon be with my mother. I just have to get through the grit of the rope to my neck. I’m about to grab it from the tray, where do I hang it? There’s a creak at the door. He’s standing there. The lights have never portrayed his cold eyes more vividly. Without a word he takes something out from behind his back. It’s a stool. He silently hangs the rope and places the stool directly below it. With one last glance at me he walks out leaving me in science. The image of his cold eyes still in my head. Only my beating heart rings through my ears. It’s only a matter of time before I step onto that stool. I know is he’s testing me but I’ve already broken. I can only hold off so long until that lull of the rope will draw me in. the rope promises pain. Peace. A chance to let go. My mother said it will always get better. Soon I will see her again and it will be better. With my last few moments until I step onto that stool, I am finally ready to forget my dad. I love him but that’s no reason to stay in this awful world anymore. It’s clear that he doesn’t want me here. It’s ok because I don’t want me to be here either. I pull myself up slowly making my way to the stool. Still sore from the beatings. My weak skinny legs crawl on top of the stool. I grasp the rope firmly in one had trying to remind myself that everything will be better when I’m gone. Don’t chicken out. I tell myself over and over again. If I don’t do it now he will do it soon. I slip the large hole over my head and jump off the stool. In slow motion i see my mother sitting in front of me smiling. My fathers voice in the background saying he’s sorry and he still loves me. A small tear rolls down my red cheeks. Before I know it everything’s black and it’s Christmas Day all over again.
    
I am broken at least I tried
I am broken and I will cry
I only feel fear there is no love
As I hear the chair squeaking high up above
When that wretched door opens and lets light through
Then I am forced to see you
As your shadow looms oh so near
A tray slides past me as I shed my last tear
There is not food or water on the tray
But simply a rope today is my last day