Page 10 - bowman1995anthology

A Small Cry

My father used to
beat us and
my mom and I
would cry.

The next day he
will have forgotten
and my mom would
try to make it
all better,
saying it will
be all right.

But she could
not stop the
night, no matter
how hard she

tried.
Then I would
feel the evil
footsteps and
the slamming of
the door. I

would hear the
hitting and the
screaming and knew
I would be next.

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