The Beginnings of NaNo 2o12

So...this is basically my keep-along thing. Seeing as how I'm handwriting/typewriting/typing my ENTIRE novel, this is the place for anyone interested to see how I'm doing. I'll post my word count, how the plot is, what I'm eating, anythin n everything here ^-^

Friday, March 16, 2012

Day Two - My Brother

Sorry for not posting yesterday, I was a little afraid to put this up. I ended up not putting anything too graphic into it because I honestly don't remember too much of it. But one day, I'll get the courage to ask my mom what I told her about my brother.

Like I've said before, I'm not looking for pity, I just want others to know that things get better. :)


This story is very short, but lives with me every day of my life. This will be a hard story to tell so bear with me if it seems a little confusing. I can only tell what I know, and remember.

From when I have been brave enough to talk to my mother about my brother, half-brother anyway, I learned he was always a

I only have one main memory of what he did to me....

[please be mature about this]

The memories I have don't have too much of a start and finish, they're just kind of there. And they are always in the same place.

The bathroom.

And I mainly only remember him watching me.

If you understand where I am going with this, then please, don't be sorry. It has long passed.

Anyway, for days, or weeks, he'd watch me while I was using the toilet. I don't remember if he ever said anything. I just know that he was always watching me. Whenever I went in, he'd knock and come in after me.

Yes, you read that right. He knocked.

Only once that I remember though, did he do anything to me.

No, he didn't rape me "down there". But he did force me to do other stuff that I was unwilling to do.

I was standing in front of the sink and my next memory is me on my knees and his pants pulled down in front of me.

I remember him saying stuff to me, telling me to, but I wouldn't. He kept telling me to, over and over. Finally, I remember him grabbing me and pulling me to him.

Nothing I do will erase the feeling of him doing that to me. There is no way to take away the feeling of being forced to do that. I can still remember how it felt, how it taste, how it smelt. And I want to cry whenever I think about it.

The worst part? He won't even admit to it. Over a decade later, and he still says he did nothing.

Even worse? My dad believes him.


I know the dad thing might seem insignifigant, but tomorrow, when I talk about my dad, you'll understand. The pieces are finally going to fall together.

On the other hand, less than a month until I graduate. I'm counting down the days....

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