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Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado

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Words Do Hurt...But The Beatings Are Worse. (Beatrice's Story) -Tearjerker-
By Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Thursday, September 20, 2007

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Another child endured the hell of child abuse--but unfortunately her story did not have a happy ending.

This story is FICTION, but it comes from today's headlines: too many children are being senselessly abused--some with fatal or heartbreaking results--, and this is becoming a problem. Child abuse needs to be stopped...*NOW*.

Let's come together and speak out against this horror!

*Warning: break out the handkerchiefs; this story is bound to get you bawling!*


My name is Beatrice. I was six years old. I did have a mommy and a daddy, but they no longer exist: for one thing, I'm dead.

I am dead because mommy and daddy beat me once too often.

I'm now in Heaven. I'm an angel; yet I wanted to tell you my story.

*****************************************************************

Ever since I can remember, I made my parents mad. If it wasn't for messin' in my diapers, crying too much, not picking up my toys after I was done playing, or dawdling around while they were in a hurry, I got beat for the least little thing. Even if I looked at them a certain way, I'd get my butt whipped.

I don't know if they even wanted me. They sure didn't act like they loved me. They constantly called me terrible names, they hit me at any chance they got, and if I was especially bad, they made me sleep in the closet and locked the door.

Sometimes they hit me so hard I'd get a bloody nose, a black eye (or eyes), or marks on my body. Sometimes they grabbed me by the arm so hard they'd break it (then I would have to go to the emergency room; they'd make up some lie about how I fell down the stairs again when I knew otherwise), and several times they burned me with cigarettes--anything to make me mind them.

It wasn't long before I grew terrified of my mommy and daddy. I didn't know what would set them off into yet another rage; I grew quiet, scaed, withdrawn. I didn't want anything to do with them; to me they were worse than the monsters that lived under my bed or in my storybooks.

The last time they hit me I got into trouble for peeing on the toilet seat instead of in. I had to go so bad I didn't look where I was aiming. Well, I guess I forgot to clean it off, I don't know; but mommy saw it, and she immediately started in on me. She started whamming my head into the toilet--and that was the last thing I remember.

***************************************************************

The following, as recounted by an emergency room nurse:

The child was brought into our ER via ambulance. We knew even before she got here that it was a bad call. The child had suffered severe head trauma due to a severe beating inflicted on her upon her parents.

This wasn't the first time Beatrice had been brought to our ER: she had been brought in numerous times, either by her parents, a neighbor, or her teacher. She often had marks or bruises covering her small body, and she was the most dirtiest, saddest, depressed little human being we  had ever seen. We knew outright that she was being abused; yet it seemed nobody wanted to get involved; therefore, the abuse at home continued.

The ambulance arrived with its small patient. The patient, a little girl of no older than six years, was being pushed on a gurney in full cardiac arrest. Her head was a bloody pulp; blood and brain matter was everywhere. It was beyond sickening. Yet we knew that she deserved a chance; we immediately tried to resuscitate her.

It was to no avail. We couldn't save her. She was beyond hope. A doctor pronounced her dead an hour later after she'd arrived in our ER.

***************************************************************

Now I'm in Heaven, and I saw the nurses and doctors working on me. It broke my heart. I remember thinking why did my parents do this to me; what could I have done that was so terrible to make them kill me like they did? Why did I have to suffer so much hurt, so much---pain??

All that is behind me now. I am an angel, as I said. I now live in Heaven, and I live with Jesus. Jesus is wonderful; He never belittles me, and He is more than willing to give me a Hug at any moment. There are many other people in Heaven, yet Jesus somehow has Time for everyone; He is never too Busy.

I now consider Jesus as my Father. I think Mary and Joseph--HIS Mommy and Daddy--are my Granny and Grampy. God is my Great Grampy. Anyway, I now have many Cousins, Aunts, and Uncles, and I have even seen my OWN grammy and grampy here in Heaven. They were dead, but they, like me, are very much alive; we just live in a Different Place, a Place filled with laughter, happiness, and NO pain or things to make us sad or sick.

Those who were sick or hurt are now all better, and those who were in wheelchairs or used crutches now walk, even run. There are all kinds of animals here, and it is usually always sunny. The streets are made of gold, and the clouds up here look like fat globs of cotton candy. I have even met some lions, and they never once tried to bite me; they were as friendly as pussycats.

Well, I am going to go now. Jesus is calling me. Maybe He wants some ice cream or maybe He wants to go for a Walk; He's always Visiting people.

I only hope that the sadness of children on Earth goes away; no kid deserves to be treated so meanly, and no kid deserves to be hit or treated like an animal by people who are supposed to love them!

Now that I am an angel, I am going to have to bug Jesus a little harder to answer their prayers. Ooops! Jesus is calling me again; He is starting to sound a little impatient. Don't want to keep Him waiting, so Bye!

~Angel Beatrice.
  


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Reviewed by chris stienstra 9/23/2007
A better family she could not have found.
Powerful, clear and true.
Nothng else can be said.

my best
Chris
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes 9/21/2007
Painfully powerful Karen!!

love tinka
Reviewed by Georg Mateos 9/21/2007
I am afraid to ask Walt what he experienced taking care of battered children, because he wouldn't be writing fiction.
Beatings that didn't killed you aren't the worst, but the words still ringing loud and clear in our ears, and nobody can silence those.
Georg
Reviewed by Michelle Kidwell Power In The Pen 9/20/2007
This is horrible especially because I know for to many child this is a reality, it reminds me of that song Alyssa Lied, and the one by Martina Mcbride Concrete Angel. Excellent write and you were right you needed hankies for this one
God Bless
Michelle~
Reviewed by Laura Mayer 9/20/2007
Very real version of the way it is like for an abused child Karen!
This must stop!
Hugs, Laura
Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 9/20/2007
Powerfully, painfully told: this must stop. Now! Before there are more Angel Beatrices.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :(


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