by Rachel Opel

Created on: September 30, 2008

Ten years of my life I have been abused by George, my suppose guardian. Two weeks after my fifth birthday my parents were in a car-crash. They didn't survive. I was put into a child care center; up for adoption. Then along came Geroge, who then decided to adopted me. I thought it would great, because I'd have someone to live with. I reached his house, I had met one more kids of his; Leah who was adopted by him too.

The next morning when the sun awoke me I found two scars. One deep, deep cut with a shave of blood, that filled my wrist. The other lightly across my cheek, not as bad as the first. I slowly paced my down down the steps. I spotted George sitting at the kitchen table; he looked angry. The first thought that came into my mine; what was happening? Leah sneaked up behind me. I gave her a frightened look and then pointed to my scar. Her face was sad and as white as a ghost. She then lifted up her shirt, across her stomach it was like you could see her bones. A scar for life. It was almost a foot long, it covered her whole stomach. "What happened?" I whispered in wonder. She gave no look or expresstion at all, she just nodded.

"Brittiney" Geroge said in anger, looking at me. "Get down here." I began to unhurrily walk my self down the steps into the living room. I stood in front of him, gazing at the floor. He lifted up my chin, I tried to fouses on the floor, but my eyes met his. His fist got tight. His fist then turned into a punch, it rapidly hit me in the jaw. I took a sniff and then glared over at Leah. She tightened her hands together, and then looked up; she was praying. George walked over to kitchen, while Leah came down the steps heading for the door. "Leah hold on" George spoke. Before I knew it he was holding a knife behind his back. He walked over to where Leah was frozen at the door, he quickly stabbed it to her throat. I covered my mouth with my hands, tears were shedding down my face. I could hear Leah suffer, George left the knife there half way through her throat, she fell to the ground.

It's now five years later, and I'm fifteen. Every day I pray that George won't stab me with a knife. He still roughly abuses me, I have cuts and scars all over my body, places I can't even believe. I awake up every morning with a new cut on me, blood smeared all over. I know God's there holding my hand everyday so I won't be stabbed with a knife by George. I still get cut's and scar's, but I know I'll never be stabbed.

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