This short story is an entry in the 2003 Soc.Sexuality.Spanking Summer Short Story Contest and is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments
Category: Child
How I Lost a Year
By
When did you first remember things? My first memories are from when I was four.
I shared a room with my sister. The ceiling was white, and the walls were my favorite color, blue. On one side, the ceiling sloped down low enough that even I could reach it. One day, I noticed that some of the blue paint next to the ceiling was hanging loose and messy. I pulled the loose piece off. The wall underneath it was white, just like the ceiling. For days, every time I was inside my room, I pulled off more loose blue paint. When I started, I noticed just a few loose pieces, but as I worked, I found lots more.
Finally, the wall was all smooth, with no loose paint flakes. The white of the ceiling now came an inch or two down the wall, and the uneven edge bothered me a little. I didn't have blue paint to cover the white parts, though, but it did look much better without the messy paint flecks. I was so proud of my work.
One day, Mom came in and saw the wall. She pointed at it and yelled, "Who did this?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at us. I didn't know why she was mad, although I knew she was, and I was scared.
Automatically, I almost said, "not me." Then I remembered Sunday School lessons, George Washington and the cherry tree, and that lying was wrong. In a small voice, I said, "I did." I expected Mom to calm down and then I could explain how I fixed the wall.
Instead it was like tossing kerosene on a fire. In a violent rage, Mom grabbed me, sat down, pulled my dress up and my panties down, and started spanking. Hard, fast spanks rained down on my bottom. She spanked me harder than I thought anyone could spank, and her fury terrified me. I cried and screamed from the pain.
I remember reaching a point when I realized the only thing in Mom was the mad part. She didn't know how big she was and how tiny I was. And I knew she might kill me in her madness.
And then I stopped remembering anything. I stopped remembering for a long time.
Until a year and a half later in kindergarten on a cold, rainy day. Class was over and I was waiting for a ride with my friend Elaine. I knew we were friends, but I didn't like her. She grabbed my forearm, hurting me, and pulled me over to the windows. She kept talking about Elvis, how great he was, how she loved him, and she kept hurting my arm.
To this day, I've never remembered anything from the lost time.
I hate all things Elvis.
And I lie, even when it would be just as easy to tell the truth.
The End
© Copyright DJfrmPA, 08 June 2003
Sassy Jo <sassy_jolene(at)hotmail(dot)com>
This is a good piece. I like the build. And I love the ending. It makes me think back to my own childhood, the lies I told, the spankings I got. It got me into the author's head. Very good! Not too sure about the originality...I think my own kids think that I might kill them each time I spank them in anger. Still a good read overall.
Huh Chuh <huhchuh(at)yahoo(dot)com>
Wow. Really nice job explaining the child's perspective. I love the way that you describe the child knowing how things should be and feeling that things are not quite as they appear to be such as where the child notes that her friend Elaine hurts her arm. I feel sad with the child because she must be lonely. I wonder why later in life she chooses to lie when she doesn't need to do so. I can understand why she hates all things Elvis. Very nice job explaining this child's perspective.
Ted <quixotoes(at)aol(dot)com>
This story departs from most because it has the sorrowful ring of reality. Yet its authenticity and deft use of first-person on a theme of selective childhood memory makes this as focused and memorable a short story as any this reviewer has read. Also, I hate all things Elvis, too.