[Trigger warning: rape Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/%5D
The tune she hummed was one from her childhood. Something her mother must have sang to her as she tried to drift off to sleep. Or maybe it was her father. It certainly wasn’t something she had crafted herself, though all the nurses thought that to be the case.
“It’s her illness,” they would say. “Her way of dealing with the things around her.”
It wasn’t her fault her mommy brought a new man. How was she to know that he would come into her room every night while her mother was sleeping? At first, she thought he was going to sing her to sleep.
But that wasn’t the case.
After that, other things started happening that Christy couldn’t remember. She thought she saw flickers of that man hurting her mommy, of her mother surrounded by a pool of red on their kitchen floor. Or that could have been paint.
Next thing she knew, she was put in the nice large white building where all she had to do every day was cut out pictures and stick them onto paper. Sure, the nice ladies and nice men wanted her to talk to them, but she never felt like it. Christy wanted to keep making her pretty pictures for her mommy, whenever she decided to come back.