A Life of Death: The Redemption(A True Story)
Written by:Laurie Ann Smith
Dedication:
To my brothers, Howard Wilmot Smith and Robert Chesley Smith.
Acknowledgments:
To Sandra Dawn Potter for serving as my editor.
Index:
ForewardChapter 1---How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?Chapter 2---DecisionsChapter 3---One of the "Smith" KidsChapter 4---Just Go Ahead and Kill MeChapter 5---In This Corner, Heavy Weight ChampionChapter 6---Led Zepplin, Locker Room, 360's in the CamaroChapter 7---All Bets Are Off Chapter 8---DreamsChapter 9---You're Not Supposed To Be HereChapter 10---There are Laws Against Child AbuseChapter 11---Some Wheels, Bad Habits & a Chip On My Shoulder Chapter 12---Lucky Number 13Chapter 13---Words To Mend My HeartChapter 14---Good Trips, Bad Trips and a BandChapter 15---"I'm Already Dead....You Can't Kill Me"Chapter 16---The Truth Shall Make Me FreeChapter 17---Curse, Yell and SmashChapter 18---Look At What You Have DoneChapter 19---I'm Going To Tell Them You Did ItChapter 20---Screaming To Get OutChapter 21---Surviving, I think?
Chapter 22---Bad Dreams, Fading Scars and Pain in my HeartChapter 23---Maintaining Some Composure and Laying Down the LawChapter 24---Happy Valentine's DayChapter 25---A Thing in Motion Stays in MotionChapter 26---Trouble in the Air Chapter 27---One Foot in Front of the Other Chapter 28---The RedemptionA Note From The Author
Chapter 1- How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?
“No, No, No!” I cried in three quick successions and in a defensive block with myarms tried to ward off the blows. A familiar voice spoke loudly andmy eyes opened to see a hand in front of my face and the voice asking, “Howmany fingers am I holding up?”I looked, but did not see any fingers, just the whole hand, a bit blurry and fuzzylooking. I had to look again, “Three?” “Good” she said. “Go back to sleep now”and this would repeat itself throughout the night but, always with a differentquestion. “What day is it?”, "What is your name?”, “How old are you?”and eachtime I would drift off into a fitful sleep and dream the same nightmare all over again.The next morning it would all make more sense as I remembered that my mother had cracked my head open once again. This time was the worst and I was so gladto be safe for the moment at my friend’s house. My friend, Deserie, and her mother were up all night, taking turns watching over me while I slept. They woke me upevery hour on the hour just to be sure I was not going into a coma or shock fromthe beating I had taken that particular day.I don't recall why it went the way it did, sometimes I guess I may have had asmart mouth, or said things I should not have said, but this was just wayover the top. It almost felt like it was planned and that my mother had setthe whole thing up as she knew I did not like to eat a particular soup shewould make (stewed tomatoes and milk) because the milk would curdle. I just did not like the combination. I probably said something about it as shecalled me for lunch.
The scene replayed over and over in the back of my mind as I explained to Deseriewhat exactly had happened. I had sat down at the kitchen table and, as I looked atthe soup, I guess I said something my mother did not want to hear.Her fists pounded against the kitchen table as my mother quickly stood up out of her chair. She was almost six feet tall and weighed about 260 pounds. Her ominousfigure towered over me and I knew this was not going to be good. I braced myself as the back of her hand caught me on my right cheek, my whole body fell backwards and to the left, including the chair. I cried out in pain as my left templecaught the side of the clothes dryer that was situated right behind me. I wasstunned, but I knew I had better get out of the house or it was going to be a bad dayfor me.I tried to get away. I was moving around the table as my mother was coming at me,cursing me like a banshee “You God damn piece of shit! You no good, rottenwhore! I’ll take your God damn head off!” she screamed as she forcefully shovedthe table into my side. I was trapped. I could not move. She had me right were shewanted me.She reached for me, but I was well aware of the routine, so I tried to protect myhead by curling up on my stomach to ward off some of the blows with my back."Crack, Thud, Thud," was the sound the heavy homemade wooden rolling pinmade as it hit my back, my shoulders and caught the back of my head. By this point, my mother was in a rage well beyond knowing what she was doing, “YOUWANT SOME MORE???!!!!!!!” she screamed, as she kicked my legs and bentover grabbing my hair and pulling me up off the floor.I silently whimpered and told her no, that I did not want any more but, shescreamed into my ear again, “I SAID!!!!! DO - YOU – WANT – SOME – MORE???” I could feel the wooden rolling pin hitting against the side of my headover and over again. I was trying to protect my head the best I could with myhands, until a blow eventually hit my hand. In pain, I brought my hand down,“Aaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyy, not my head” I said “No, please…..”I begged, cried and pleaded for her to stop, but then I felt a swift crack as therolling pin connected with the back of my head. My body was instantly weakenedand limp. I could feel the blood pour down the back of my neck, curl around myear, onto my face and drip down onto the floor.
Search History:
Result 00 of 00
00 results for result for
p.
Preview of "A Life of Death: The Redemption" A True Story Written by Laurie Ann Smith
180
Reads
0
Readcasts
1
Embed Views
Notes
Load more
