Kind Treachery

Kind Treachery

A Story by Chiquita

I sat in a familiar spot the other day and just reflected on my life. This piece is a result of that. It is a bit dark and gloomy. It reflects where my heart was at the time.


I am sitting in a place that is familiar to me yet I do not know where I am or where I am headed.  What I see is known to me.  There is a distant lighthouse in the midst of the harbor.   Years ago they built a breakwater out of huge stones.  It stretches a mile from the shore out into the center of the harbor.  The intention is to break the rough waters and provide the harbor with safety.  I have sought this place out today because it is familiar.  I do not know what is solid footing in my world  and what will move under my feet in a moment.  Yet I know this place and it offers me some comfort. 

I have had to loosen my grip on too many things.  I hold very lightly to everything these days, trying not to care too deeply about too much.  Everything slips though my hands.  I have let go of dream after dream and traded them in for  less costly models over and over.  I have exchanged my expectations until I expect nothing but heartache in return for my efforts.  I have lost my grip on family, on values and on God himself.  In their stead I hold a dreary and faded image of what should have been.   It has been washed with tears that are too numerous to count leaving the image tattered and worn.

Long lost are the hopes of happily ever after.  The on-slot of divorce and pedophiles has been too much.  One attack may have been withstood but the history of history repeating itself is larger than my hope ever could have been.  

Divorce first bit my heel at a  tender age of 3.  Happily ever after has been fleeing from me since then.   My daddy was gone from my life until I was a somewhat grown woman at the age of 18.  My dad's substitute was my first experience with a pedophile.  My bruised and battered innocence sustained another blow.  The touching and looking that ripped my soul to shreds is near to my remembrance always.   There have been times that I thought it had been tucked neatly away in a place called forgiveness.  I finally became strong enough to say no to my assailant just 2 years ago.   The groping and gawking stopped years ago yet I continued to allow the b*****d to be a part of my life in the name of family.  Even after my mother divorced the child rapist, I looked to him as my father.  Another experience with another pedophile gave me the strength to see this relationship as sick and to end it.

Divorce struck again when my own daughter was 3.  History was repeating history in a never ending tale of woe.   I would break the cycle though.  I was determined.   I would do better than those that came before me.  I would be the defender of the innocent.  I would protect virtue. 

I married the next pedophile in my life.  I brought the perpetrator of my child into her life.  He sat with me when I told her to never allow anyone to hurt her and touch her in the places that made her feel uncomfortable.  I told her to obey him.  I told her he was good.  I left her in his charge.  I trusted the monster of my child's nightmare.  The Freddy Kruger of my neighborhood shared my bed.  The mask the monster wore looked remarkably like the image of God's own son.   The word's of Christ were on his lips.  The talk was talked but the walk was wicked.  F**k the b*****d, son of Satan. 

Today there is the tiniest life that is beginning.  My daughter is pregnant.  I fear for the little one.  History is  cruel and is lying in wait to revisit the innocent.  I sit and look at a scene that is known well to me.  I see the one mile of stones that are laid in the harbor.  They have been set in place to protect the harbor from the storms.  I have walked the mile more times than I can count.  The lighthouse at the end of the mile trek has been a beacon in the fog.  It speaks of a safe place to weather the storms.  It sends warnings of the rocks that are present.  It serves to direct one toward safety and away from danger. 

I have sat for a time pondering these things.  The sun is beginning it's descent in the evening sky.  The waves look like all the waves have looked.  The scene is familiar.   Yet I sit here and pray an unholy prayer, that my daughter shall commit murder and slay my first known grandchild.  To die by the severing of it's tiny limbs from it's miniature torso would be the kindest of treacheries for the babe.  History hates the women of my heritage.  History lurks in the dark shadows awaiting it's next victim.  I know from where I have come that there is no protecting the innocent.  There is no safe harbor for the women that share my blood. 

There have been times, like now,  that hope seemed close enough to touch it.  In the distance, I hear Satan cackle from the pit of hell.  Again, he desires for me to reach out and grab for that hope so he can snatch it away.  He is a b*****d. 


© 2008 Chiquita

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a deep and tragic reverie you've written here. don't give up on that hope - that is why Satan sits cackling - to cause you to turn away and give up. Fight on , for the sake of that unborn miracle - it is true that abuse runs in cycles - but you can stop that cycle - you can. Teach your daughter all that you have learned - keep your grandchild close - let the light of the future guide you - and not the darkness of the past.

Big Hugs!


Posted 13 Years Ago

Forgive me please Dear Friend, I hardly know what to say here.

I knew because I've read you before but nothing I've read thus far touched me, No, racked me with pain as this has. I'm blown away by your writing but this is nothing compared to what this must be like. I'm sorry I really don't know what else to say. :+(

Posted 13 Years Ago

It was once said by another, 'Some men practice the fairest of speech, and perform the foulest of deeds.'
I am saddened and angered by what I read here. It provokes a need for revenge. But as I too am in my 40s, I am not able to pretend that the human animal is not extremely intelligent and laced with black desires. Myriads of variables adorn the psyche, and make a laughing stock of psychiatry. Your experiences are eloquently portrayed here and the reader can feel your emotions. So heavy, so frightening, so much reality.
On a lighter note, I also like that your grammar and spelling and form are impeccable.
Thank you for sharing this.

Posted 13 Years Ago

Thank you for asking me to read this. I share much of the history you describe. History DOES NOT have to repeat itself..........the lessons need to be learned and a sense of self-worth needs to be built. Cliche, but true.

If you want a "technical" critique, let me know.

Peace, my friend.

Posted 13 Years Ago

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Added on April 18, 2008



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