Short Stories

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The earliest memories She had of Her father was him returning home in a drunken swagger, his angry words slurred by the dangerous influence of alcohol. In those days they lived in a small apartment in the downtown area of Manhattan. The neighborhood was…squalid. There was no other word for it. Stray dogs ran around unchecked, leaving their waste everywhere, barking at every hour of the night, scrounging through trash cans. Trash and debris cluttered the alleyways. A homeless man digging through trash or asking for money was an all too familiar sight.
In those days Her father returned home, yelling in anger…he was always angry when he was intoxicated. Whenever he came home, Her mother would leave…she was afraid of him when he was drunk. And She would just go and hide in the closet…to wait until he either calmed down or fell asleep on the tattered couch.
Fortunately, She had her brother then. At fifteen years old, with a mischievous smile and a playful attitude, he was Her hero. Yes, he was a little rough around the edges- he ran with a gang- but what did that matter? He kept Her safe, and She could always talk to him. He was also the only one who could speak to their father and calm him down during his drunken bouts.
She also had her sister, but she, at nineteen, never paid much attention to anyone else in the family. She was usually gone, and when she came home, she almost always had some guy hanging off her that she would take up to her room.
This was the way that life was for Her. She never questioned it. She never asked Herself if there was anything else, anything better than what She had right now. But the days would come when She would.
It was when She was ten years old that Her brother was killed. Stabbed in the stomach, they said, by a rival gang member. She remembered Her father carrying him in. His face was deathly pale…blood was spattered all over his shirt…he was gasping pitifully for breath. That was one of the only times She ever saw Her father sober. He was crying as he laid his son on the couch. He sent Her mother for the doctor but it was too late. Five minutes later, Her brother coughed up blood and died.
It was then, at ten years old, that everything went downhill.
Her mother fell into depression and began to drink liquor as well. She would come home from school and find Her mother either passed out, sprawled on the floor, or arguing with Her father, who was intoxicated just as well. It wasn’t long before She actually began to prefer to stay at school rather than go home. She had no friends, and all the people in Her classes teased Her for Her strange personality and shabby clothes. But the teasing was better than having to hide in the closet while Her parents fought and screamed, their words thick and sluggish with intoxication.
Her 11th birthday came around. She sat at the window that night, saw a shooting star, and wished that everything would get better. For awhile, it did. Her parents did not come home drunk nearly as often, and if they did, they were only slightly intoxicated. She met a new girl at school who quickly became Her friend. And Her sister moved out, which meant that for the first time in Her life, She would have her own room. No more having to sleep on the couch. No more having to go hide in the closet.
But then, things got worse.
Her mother became hooked on heroine. It wasn’t long before syringes and needles were found lying all over the house. Her father slunk back into the pits of alcoholism again, this time with more intensity. There were quite a few nights where She would go sleep out in the park, which was a few blocks from Her house, rather than return home where Her parents were lost in the throes of their addictions. That, or She would spend the night at Her friend’s house. She never told Her friend about Her problems at home, thinking that if Her friend knew, she would desert Her.
Time stretched on, and the year went by, and things only worsened. Her mother would stay gone for days, and when she came home, she was always either high or drunk. Her father, in the midst of his drunken fits, would often hit Her. She did Her best to cover up the bruises, but sometimes they were just too hard to conceal. When the people at school saw them, they laughed and called Her clumsy. Her friend noticed them and became concerned, but She told her it was nothing. Nothing to worry about. But deep down, She knew it was. Her only remedy was to stay away from home or stay at Her friend’s house. Her friend’s parents were kind… or She thought. Until one day when they saw Her bruises. She never figured out why, but they told Her to stay away and not come around anymore. It broke Her heart to have Her only friend snatched from Her hands, but before long She forgot about it. Every day became a bitter struggle for survival. She stopped going to school for fear of being rejected, and She rarely went home except to sleep and find something to eat.
It was three weeks after She turned twelve that Her mother came home, in a drunken haze, and overdosed on heroine. It was the first time She had seen Her mother in nearly a month. She could never forget the way Her mother looked- she was dangerously thin, her teeth were decaying within her mouth, her hair was patchy and uneven, and her eyes were sickeningly bloodshot. She murmured incoherently at Her and within five minutes of being home began to shoot heroin into her veins. Her mother laughed sadistically as she did it. She went upstairs into Her room to escape there for a little while, but came back down a few minutes later when She heard a loud thump down below in the living room. She came down to find Her mother collapsed on the floor, the heroin needle lying on the ground. She fell to the floor beside Her mother, tears gathering in Her green eyes as She tried to bring her back to consciousness. A few minutes later, Her mother’s lips began to turn blue. Her breathing became shallow. Within the hour, Her mother had died.
She had to leave- there was nothing else for it. If Her father came home and found Her mother dead, he would undoubtedly blame Her for it. And if he was drunk-there would be no telling what he would do to her.
And so She ran. She never forgot that night. Her long black hair streaming behind Her, tears springing from Her eyes and crashing to the ground, the muscles in Her legs cramping as She pressed Herself forward, telling Herself that She had to get as far away as possible. She didn’t know how long She ran for- only that after what felt like hours, She found Herself at the park that She had slept in so many nights before. Finally, driven by exhaustion and grief, She collapsed upon a gnarled bench and wept. “Why?” She asked, although She didn’t know who it was She was asking. “Why does it have to be this way?”
For a few days She wandered around the park. She wasn’t sure what to do…She couldn’t go home… She couldn’t go back to school… She was too young to have a decent job… besides, if someone found out She was on the streets, living on Her own, they might report Her. She continued in this haze of indecision before realizing that She had not run out entirely of options.
Her sister. She would find Her sister and go live with her.
Of course, She had no idea how She would find her. Her only option was to wander around on the streets and hope to bump into her. And that is exactly what She did. On the sixth day of leaving home She found her sister, down on the street corner, buying some drugs.
“Uhh…hi,” She murmured sheepishly.
“Wha-? Oh, hey Sis.” Her sister looked at Her for a moment and paused before speaking. “What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you at home?” she said as she walked away from the dealer. She followed Her sister as She told her everything that had happened over the past year. “Can I please live with you?” She asked desperately. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t want to be alone.”
Her sister stopped walking. It was clear she was thinking. Finally she spoke. “I guess, as long as you don’t get in the way.”
For the first time in about two months, a smile crossed Her lips. “I won’t. I promise.”
Life at Her sister’s apartment was… well, there was really no word for it. There was usually some guy there, and more than once She had come out of Her room in the middle of the night to get a drink to find Her sister and the guy thrashing about on the couch. Heroin needles were commonly found lying on the kitchen counter or floor, but thankfully Her sister controlled herself well enough to ensure that her “fits,” as she called them, didn’t cause her to go too far.
Time flew by. She was free to do as She wanted, as Her sister, when home, really didn’t care as long as She was home at a certain time. As much as she didn’t appear to care, She knew that Her sister loved Her and didn’t want Her to get hurt. And that gave Her comfort. She usually spent Her days merely wandering the streets, sometimes returning to the park that had been Her temporary home in times past. At night, if Her sister wasn’t high or having a liaison with someone, they would go out to meet with some of Her sister’s friends. Often they would just wander around the streets, looking for a dealer or vandalizing the playgrounds and parked cars that they crossed paths with. As frightening as it sometimes was, She enjoyed those nights that She had with Her sister.
Her thirteenth birthday came and went. For Her birthday, Her sister gave Her an outfit that she had gotten from one of her friends. “You better be glad too.. I had to spend my Smack money on that,” Her sister said with a grin and a wink. Returning a smile, She rushed into Her room to try it on. Once it was on, She stepped back and looked into the mirror. She was showing quite a lot of skin. But for some reason…she liked it.
The months went by like a blur. Nothing very eventful. Eventually, she became known among Her sister’s friends as “Big J.” Why, She didn’t know, but it was much better than being called “Anna’s sister.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t very long before She found Herself drinking alcohol. At first She only did it to be able to identify with Her sister’s friends. But then, after awhile, She found herself actually fond of it. There was usually plenty of it at Her sister’s apartment. Thankfully, She only got intoxicated a few times, but still… as each day passed by, She found herself craving it more and more.
Her fourteenth birthday arrived. Things began to get out of control at the apartment. People came over often to get drunk or high, and barely one night passed where Her sister was not lying on the couch in the arms of some man.
Often, Her sister would host parties where everyone would take turns passing around the “Smack” as they called it, during which She would hide out in Her bedroom. What once started out as being a happy life with Her sister began to closely resemble the life that She had left behind and wanted so desperately to forget.
She never forgot that night, two months after She had turned fourteen. Her sister came home, high, with some of Her friends. One of them, a guy, had had his eye on Her ever since She had come to live with Her sister. She admitted to Herself that He was quite attractive. And he was only seventeen…
She never knew what hit Her. All She remembered was going upstairs with him. Before She knew it, She was laying in the bed with him as he removed Her clothes. Within the hour, he had snatched Her virginity right out of Her hands.
For the next few days after that She felt sick, as if She had been tainted with a stain that refused to come off. She cried herself to sleep every night for a week, and then the pain became replaced with a gnawing emptiness that threatened to consume Her from within. She saw the guy again shortly after that, when he came over to get high- and once again She found herself lying with Him in the bed.
It was after She had had sex with him for the third time that She decided to run away. Things were plummeting into complete chaos at Her sister’s apartment. Her sister’s addiction to heroin had broken through all boundaries of self-control; people were over at the apartment all the time, either having sex, or getting high, or drinking themselves to unconsciousness. And that guy kept coming around, wanting more…
She had to run. Again. There was nothing else for it.
On the night She left, Her sister was intoxicated past all coherence, and Her sister’s boyfriend was lying dead on the couch from a cocaine overdose. She ran out the door, carrying in Her hands a tote bag, filled with the few clothes She had managed to attain and one bottle of liquor which She had taken from the cabinet.
And once again, on that cold December night, She found herself back at the park. She laid Herself down on a park bench and pulled out the bottle of liquor. At first She only took a few sips of it. But then, the pain inside flooded Her heart, and as tears cascaded down Her face, she gulped the bottle dry. In a few minutes She had passed out.
The next morning She was brutally awakened by a sharp poke in her back. “Hey!” said a raspy voice. She groggily pulled Herself awake to see a few people standing around Her, the foremost being a young woman perhaps a little older than She, wearing a miniskirt and a black tank top. “Whatcha doin’ out here, sprawled out like this on the pavement, huh?”
“I…I…” she stammered.
“Name’s Lucy,” said the girl, extending her hand. She took it, and Lucy helped Her up.
Lucy, She was told, was the leader of a gang that roamed the streets here in Manhattan. If She wanted to join, She could. It would be a lot better than being out on Her own.
She didn’t know why She consented, but She did.
Over the next few months, She learned the ways of the gang. She found herself right back where She started- amidst drugs, sex and alcohol. But by this time, She had given up. There was just no escaping it.
On the day She turned fifteen, Lucy gave Her a heroin needle.
“Try it,” Lucy said. “I promise you’ll like it.”
Lucy showed Her how, and within minutes of injecting Herself She was high. At first She was filled with the most ecstatic and relieving feeling She had ever experienced, but before long She was overwhelmed by a violent wave of nausea that resulted in Her throwing up multiple times.
When the effects of the drug subsided, Lucy came up to Her.
“How’d you like it?” Lucy asked.
“I – don’t know.”
“You’ll start to like it, I can tell you that.”
The months crept by slowly. She didn’t use heroin again, although Her dependence upon alcohol seemed to increase every day. She also hadn’t had sex at all, not since She left Her sister’s apartment. Things looked as if they were going to get better.
The gang picked everything up and left suddenly one day, although She didn’t know why. All Lucy said was “The cops was getting’ suspicious,” but either way it didn’t matter to Her. She was just along for the ride.
And in a way, things did get better. For the first time in a while, She could actually say that She had friends. Lucy especially; she was the nicest. She even managed to lay off of alcohol for awhile.
But then Her sixteenth birthday came. And from there, things went downhill again.
It all started with the guy that they called “Richie.” He was one of the roughest in the gang, and had had his eye on Her ever since the day they found Her in the park. One day, back at the “Huddle,” as they called it, She returned from picking up drugs from a dealer to find him being the only one there, besides Herself.
“Take it off, slut,” he hissed, a malicious grin on his face.
“Wha-what?” She stammered.
“I said take it off!” he roared, coming towards Her and grabbing Her. She was trapped. She wept as She took Her clothes off. He just laughed.
From there on out, She found herself trapped in a web of licentiousness, from which there was no escape. She had sex with Richie about once a week. At first She despised every minute of it; but then, it got the point where She found that it relieved the pain she felt inside. She found herself falling back on alcohol again as well.
The months went by in a haze of sex, drugs and alcohol. It wasn’t long before She began shooting Herself with heroin- first just every once and awhile, then every day. She couldn’t get enough of it- but every time She drank, every time She shot, every time She had sex, the painful emptiness grew inside. She felt as if She was slowly destroying Herself from the inside out. And there was no one to help Her- Lucy was usually high, Richie was only there for the sex, and no one else seemed to care. She was trapped.
Seventeen came and went. She began cutting Herself. Often She would stay up all night, drinking and cutting, shooting and cutting. She wept Herself to sleep too many times to count. She felt so alone, so empty inside. Her sexual escapades moved beyond Richie, to other guys as well. They were all just faceless men, there to spend the lonely nights with Her, to relieve the pain through sex. But it never worked- She felt like She was scrubbing at a stain that was only worsening the harder She tried to get rid of it. Did anybody care? Was there anybody out there at all, that understood what She was going through, that understood the emptiness She felt inside? There didn’t seem to be.
Many times She contemplated suicide. What it was that was holding Her back, She didn’t know. What was life anymore anyway? Was it even worth living? It had become, for Her, sex, drugs, alcohol and self-mutilation. Her hair began to fall out- her teeth began to rot- she lost an incredible amount of weight. Her wrists were smothered in scars and scrapes. The floor of Her room at the Huddle was riddled with needles and empty bottles.
Before long, the drugs had taken such a toll on Her physical appearance that the guys said She was a “slut who just wasn’t no good anymore.” For a few weeks She waited in bed for them to come, but eventually She just gave up hope. None of them loved Her. Nobody. No one.
It was on Her eighteenth birthday that She decided it was time to end Her life. She crept out at three in the morning, to go down to the docks and drown Herself. Before she left, She shot Herself one last time. One last euphoria. One last needle.
The walk to the docks seemed to take forever. With each step, the tears cascaded down Her face. She looked at Her wrists, covered in scars. She rubbed the cracked skin beneath Her tired and hollow eyes, ran Her gnarled hand through Her uneven black hair, grabbed Her stomach as She heaved and vomited all over the street. She fell on the ground, into the puddle of Her vomit, and wept. She wept until She didn’t have the energy to anymore. Then She picked Herself up and continued on Her way to the docks.
After what felt like hours, or days, She found Herself down at the docks. She walked out onto the farthest one, but there was Someone already down there. She turned to run, but Whoever it was had already seen Her.
“Come here,” said the Person. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She began crying again. That Voice… It was so full of…Love. There was no other word for it. Despite the fear that was raging within Her at the moment, She stepped forward and drew closer to the Person.
It was a Man. But somehow She knew He wasn’t just any ordinary Man. He smiled as She walked up. She peered into His eyes- they were so full of love, a love that She had never seen before, let alone experienced.
“Don’t let go tonight, my child,” He said, and suddenly She felt her bleeding heart leap inside of Her with joy. “Come to Me. I will heal you. I will take you to a better place.”
“No,” She answered as She turned away. “I’ve done too much- you’ve no idea-”
“I know what it is you have done. But I forgive you. I love you.”
And as He spoke those words- “I love you”- for the first time in Her life, She felt a burden lifted from Her shoulders. Suddenly, the pain that had filled Her ever since the death of Her brother- that pain fled, and gave way to a sense of peace and joy as She had never felt before. Tears cascaded down Her face as She fell into His arms.
“I’m sorry,” She choked. “Can you forgive me? After all I’ve done-”
“I forgive you. I love you,” He said again, as He cradled Her in His arms.
She stood there for a long time that night, weeping in His arms. As She stood, She confessed to Him all that She had done. She spoke of things She had been unwilling to acknowledge for all these years, spoke of all Her mistakes and failures. He listened so carefully, and when She finished, He finally spoke.
“Julianne,” He said, and Her heart leapt with joy again as He said Her name for the first time, “I know what you have done. I have watched you for these past eighteen years, searching for that fulfillment, that love, which you could not find. I am here tonight to give it to you. I am here tonight to rescue you. To stop the bleeding. You don’t ever have to run again.”
“But…” She hesitated. It seemed too good to be true. “I’m so dirty, so stained…”
“I love you. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to take your bleeding heart away tonight and give you a new heart instead.” And with that, He stopped speaking. She looked up into His eyes, and within those eyes She saw a love which She knew was finally Hers. She began crying again, and laid Her head on His shoulder once more. She was so lost in the moment that She didn’t notice the scars fade from Her wrists. She didn’t notice Her matted hair being washed clean. She didn’t notice Her frail body being healed and restored. But when She finally lifted Her head from His shoulder and looked out off of the dock, She saw the sun beginning to rise, casting its first rays across the horizon. And then She bent down and looked into the water at Her own reflection. She was beautiful again. He had restored Her. She stood up again and turned to face Him.
“Morning has come,” She said.
“Indeed it has,” He said. “Are you ready, Julianne?” He asked Her.
She paused for a moment before answering. She knew that everything that She had done had been paid for. It was over now. No more pain. Finally, after all these years, She had been rescued.
“Yes,” She said, as She took His hand and they left the docks. And as She walked away from the docks, at the side of this man named Jesus, She smiled. She didn’t know wait lay ahead, but She knew that with Him She was safe.
Because now, She was His Daughter.

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