My duvet isn’t like any other duvet; it’s as purple as lavender and has stars as
sparkly as glitter. My mummy says the most special thing about this duvet is that
the amazing Poppy sleeps there! I giggle. I grin. I receive a kiss while she wishes me
good night. I believe that the magical, purple and starry duvet along with my
special powers creates a protection that not even a meteoroid could break. It’s a
place where nightmares can’t touch you and no one will ever cry waterfalls again.
It’s a gift from the stars and not even hell can ruin it.
On winter nights, I feel extra safe and cosy under the duvet. I snuggle up and
remind myself of the extraordinary birthday I experienced yesterday. I devoured
chocolate cake, opened trillions of presents and the living room exploded with
colour with balloons. Nevertheless, my mind is still dwelling about meeting my
mummy’s boyfriend yesterday. I love him so much because he was so kind, gave me
pretty bracelets and even played Just Dance with me. I have never seen my mummy
so happy. When I blew out my candles, I wished we would be family forever.
I’m officially 7 years and 5 months old today. It’s also been 5 months since our
family of two became three and it’s been excellent. It feels like Daddy has been here
for eternity and that I haven’t been deprived of a father figure most of my life. They
go on dates and we went to LegoLand last weekend. Life has never been better.
Arguing, shouting and yelling. I can’t get to sleep. Mummy and daddy do nothing
but argue. Daddy has been getting very annoyed recently and keeps demanding her
to do stuff and getting drunk. It seems to never end. This will end, right?
Under my duvet tonight, I haven’t been thinking about how I’m 7 years and 9
months old but the bruises on mummy’s arms. I never talk to daddy anymore, I don’t
dare to… Shouting has turned to screaming with bruises and broken furniture in the
morning. I’ve asked her if she’s ok but she says yes, gets defensive and tells me to
pretend to dad I don’t know anything. I’m petrified. Under my duvet I weep, weep
and weep. What can I do?
Tonight, I sit at the middle of the stairs, watching them in the kitchen. It’s been
getting worse and I have this gut feeling something bad is going to happen. They
are arguing. I can’t hear what it’s about.. Then he slams mum against the wall. I
scream. He sees me. I flee upstairs. He chases after me. I hid under the duvet.
It doesn’t save me. It doesn’t save me…
My duvet isn’t like any other duvet, it has blood stains as red as roses. Tears as wet
as a waterfall. Memories as distressing as death.
I don’t think anything will be the same again.