**Frank’s point of view**
I can’t take this any longer. I lay there, curled up on my bed. My uncle had just… finished with me. I hate him, I hate feeling like this.
My arm hurts more then ever now. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t go to school today. He nearly snapped it in two. He’s going to tell Mom I was roughhousing earlier and crashed into a tree. He’s making a doctors appointment with Dr. Bates.
“Come on, Frank,” he said. He walked into my room and stopped. “You won’t tell the doctor what really happened, will you?”
I shook my head. I know better then to tell anyone. The last time I told someone, Joe’s car was crashed into. My uncle said that was him. Nothing – short of an atomic bomb in his stomach, which does sound tempting – will stop this.
But, oh man, do I hate it. The feeling of pain and uselessness. He knows where to hit me, so nobody sees the scars. There are plenty of them. Or the ones they do see, they don’t believe.
[wait for added details]
2006-09-20
08:19:07
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5 answers
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asked by
CandyCorn
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