Speak A Little Louder HTML version
SPEAK A LITTLE LOUDER
By C.C Hazel
How am I doing? How am I doing! Well let’s see. I was stabbed and raped beaten and
left for dead dearest mommy and daddy. How the fuck do you think I am doing?!
“A lot better.”
“That’s good.” George said squeezing his daughter’s hand.
It took all his strength to keep a hold on his temper every day. Some animal had hurt
his daughter and the god damn police still had not done anything to find him. “The
investigation is on-going sir.” “on-going?” what the hell did that mean? If they didn’t
give him any information how was he supposed to know what was going on? What
the hell was he and everyone else paying their taxes for if they could not do their job!
It was hard for him to look at Maria-Morgan without wanting to cry. He turned away.
She seemed shrunken and aged. Her once sparkling eyes were dull and had a glazed
over look. If he ever got his hands on the bastard that did this.
Maria-Morgan noticed him turning away. So he couldn’t even stand to look at her?
Was she that disgusting now? It was not as if she had asked for this. She had not been
walking around with a large neon "please rape and stab me sign”! She wanted to pull
her hand away and used propping herself up as a way to do so.
Bianca was busy replacing the flowers which were on another table at the foot of the
bed. More daises! Bianca always brought her fresh daises. Yes, sure, she had liked
daises once upon a time. But she had not given them a second thought since she was
six. She was now seventeen for fucks sake. What were daises in the face of what she
had suffered, what she was still suffering.
How she despised them both and their stupid daises.
Bianca was trying to arrange the daises nicely. She hoped they would remind Maria-
Morgan of a happier time. Like the time they had gone to visit her mother when
Maria-Morgan was four. How Maria-Morgan had cried and cried because there were
no daises at the breakfast table.
She, Bianca had scoured the town until she had found a shop selling some artificial
ones. Everyone had said she and George spoilt the child and that it was high time they
had another child so they could curb Maria-Morgan’s „excesses’. But she had not
minded. Maria-Morgan was happy and they could have their breakfasts in peace.
She ran to the little bathroom to get some water for the daises. And to dry her eyes.
She thanked God and the blessed virgin for bringing their baby back to her. It had