Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black w/ Blonde streaks
Age: 30-ish
D.O.B: A rather warm day in the spring of 1970 something
Hometown: South of Hell - North of Heaven

"Don't you dare wuss out on us. Hit him, now!!" Pete was screaming at her, the rock clutched in her balled fist. The jabbed egdes dug into the tender skin, fear consumed every inch of her tiny body. Adreneline rushing through her veins, heart thudding hard against it's protective covering, the urging of her brothers ringing like bells in her ears, lunging toward the young boy growling like a rabid dog. Moving fast as her twiggy legs would allow unable to stop as the little boy began squalling, whimpering, pleading. His voice was merely further encouragement, with as much force as her tiny arm could muster, the rock crashed into the skull of the youngster. Sweat beading on her forehead, eyes widened to the size of ping pong balls at the sight of blood seeping from the boys head. Muffled sounds of pain and suffering floated up into the air around her, head twisting to the side in an effort to get a better view of the damage The voices behind her crying out in unison, "Again! Again! Bash his brains." As an obedient sister, she pounded the rock into the already open wound, blood splattering over her t-shirt and jeans. A blackness clouded her eyes, deadly silence surrounded her, the boy was gone... at the hands of a 10 year old girl. One of the many 'life lessons' she would learn to survive.

*********************

Slender legs dangling off the rusty steel framed bridge, hands grasping the rail as she leaned forward looking into the water below. Current rushing, the murky brown water would carry pieces of driftwood swiftly disappearing out of sight underneath her. Grip slipping as her hands became damp with sweat, her body jerked forward slightly. Heart racing, she'd pull her back straight eyes lifting to the sky in a mock prayer of thanks, a wicked laugh rolled from the pit of her stomach out into the air above her head. Any passerby might assume her to be a jumper, far from it. Basking in the baking sunshine, her skin hot near burning from it mirroring off the water below. The bridge brought her peace, tranquility, time to remenise, to relive, to revive.

Recalling the last beating her mother had given to her - the fist landed square on her temple, sending the girls body hard into the wall. Sliding down the painted drywall, arms instictively wrapping around her head in anticipation of the next blow, contact was made again. The pain rushed through her body as the foot connected with her ribs, a crackling sound echoing in her head. Unable to protect herself from the obese woman, she curled into the fetal position awaiting the end. Pounding heavy fists down hard repeatedly, the force becoming greater as Becky bawled like the baby her mother thought her to be. Lying as still as she could, holding in her cries of terror, she'd play dead as if she were warding off a bear. Mother in her drunken rage, steadying herself against the wall stood hovering over the lttle girls body. Screaming at the girl, once more the heel of her shoe came crashing into her daughters head sending her into an unconscious state. In a flash her mother had stopped, stumbled from the room, from her life. - Closing her eyes Becky swayed side to side as if a breeze were guiding the fluid motion, memories continueing to flow effortlessly just as the water under the bridge.

He'd taken such care in uncurling her body, sobbing uncontrollably as he did so but Becky wouldn't see the tears. Distraught, his eyes fell upon the bruises clearly visible on her face, arms and legs, the bones broken at the hands of his wife. He didn't take the girl to be treated at the local hospital for fear authorities would intevene. Instead she would be nursed at home, avoiding school officials with stories of chonic illness that Becky had been plaqued with. She'd no friends to speak of, just her brothers, giving her father comfort that his daughter could recover in peace. Using materials collected from his days in the army, he'd splint her arm and and wrap the broken ribs with great care. Leaving her side during his work hours, she'd be left at the hands of the brothers. Each one carried out one devious plan after the other, poking at her wounds, slapping her bruised temple, the oldest forcing himself onto her. She'd been helpless, unable to fend off the humiliating abuse. Every day a roaring engine signaled her fathers return, bringing with it the conculsion of her daily torment. Her love for her father, inability to make him suffer more, she buried the abuse deep within herself. All to keep a smile in his eyes. She was the apple of his eye ~ The arrow through his heart!!

Flinging her leg back over the side of the bridge, she'd place both hands firmly on either side of the rail. Bringing a foot atop the rail in an attempt to stand, wobbling a bit, she'd throw both arms out effectively balancing herself. Standing fully upright, feet spread evenly apart she gazes out across the rushing river water as far as her eyes could see. Perhaps that was a blackbird in the distance, no she thought, it is a buzzard awaiting it's prey. Lips curling into an evil grin, she'd not be the prey, not this time, not ever again. Eyes fixated on the bird, her thoughts trail to the boys crumpled body, how she got to that point of anger.

Fear of the brothers - 'life lessons' is the name they gave to the various forms of abuse they'd bestowed upon her. "A man like to be touched like this." Scott would say to her, wrapping her fingers around his penis. Face cringing she'd try pulling her hand away, yanking it violently as Tony slammed his fist into the back of her head, screaming in her ear. "Pay attention, this is life lessons, you little cunt. Daddy's gone, we the teachers now." She was a meek thirteen year old then, thin beyond that of a normal teenage girl. No match for the fierce attitude of her brothers. She'd cook as best she could for them, burning most every meal during the first year after her father had passed. Carl would hiss at her, "Worthless, good for nothing bitch you tryin' to kill us?" throwing the hot food at her. Most times Becky was able to get out of his way, other times she'd nurse her own blistered burns. Most nights were spent prowling the dark alleys for vagrants that might have a dollar or two in their pockets. In awe of the brothers strength she'd watch them attack and mame more than one unsuspecting person. At best, they would end the night with a couple hundred dollars from various illegal and sometimes deadly activities. With the loot piled on the dining room table, Michael would put his arm around her shoulders gingerly, "The right way to make a living, use what God gave ya kid." his hand waved down the length of her body. At that moment a jolt of electricity ran down her spine his meaning unmistakeable. She would be thrown to the wolves for the sake of 'the family' at the tender age of 16. - Planting one foot in front of the other, each step deliberate she'd walk the beam, eyes dead ahead never looking down to the water, refusing to crash to the depths below.

Simplicity surrounded her, the men ~ the money ~ her protectors, had all become common place. Soul belonging to the devils, she'd become the person each had taught her to be. Pouring alcohol down her throat, she stepped onto the stage. Deep brown eyes coming to rest on the one lowly man in the corner, he'd beome the muse. Nirvana filling her thoughts, as the tune blared from the jukebox, "i smell sex and candy here, mhmm, whose that casting devious stares in my direction? mamma this surely is a dream" humming along, she swings wide around the steel pole. Eyes roaming the crowded bar, searching for her muse. Bills floating to the stage, landing atop the heap that is her clothes, she'd bare her body in the name of 'life lessons'. The tease enticed the muse, she'd take him home to meet the brothers. His infatuation with her left him vulnerable, enabling her protectors to rob him of whatever valuables and dignity the muse possessed. Day in, day out, the process had become routine, thus boring to the brothers. Expressing her own disinterest in the continuous cycle, longing for something new, she'd confront the eldest brothers. Several blows to the head and stomach followed by verbal threats to her life, she was physically tossed out the door into the street where she lay broken and bloody, no father to pick her up, nurse her back to health. Scrapping herself from the street, she'd stumble her way into hell.

Placing the straw to her nostril, she'd cover the other with her thumb, inhaling deeply the powder burned the tender flesh inside her nose. Tilting her head back some, swallowing hard she'd feel the drain a true sign the high was coming. The familiar crowd packed the club, Jess stood to the side of the stage casting a hard beady green eyed gaze on her. He had taken the brothers place becoming everything to her. Boss, dealer, lover, abuser. Jess gave, and took away...her dignity, self-respect, perhaps he loved her in his own sick sadistic way. The cold steel pole between her legs, Becky would imagine she were someplace else, another time. Cocaine running rampant through her viens, music blaring in her ears, she'd smile at Jess. He towered over her by at least a foot, well built muscular frame, his forearms bulging would intimidate most he encountered. Including herself. She'd been pulling from his stash, selling on the side though not nearly as much as she'd been using. The thought of more and more consumed her, he'd not give her what she needed. Shaking and sick most of the day, unable to drink enough to cure herself, she'd resorted to stealing from the man who claimed to own her. As she wrapped her legs tight around the steel, she'd slide down hard. Eyes, red and blurry, stomach churning she'd cough once, then vomit the contents of her stomach onto the wood stage. The world around crumbled at that very moment.

A rather old nurse hovered over her, the stench of anticeptic filled her nostils. Visibly shaken, Becky sat up in the bed. Forcing words to come stumbling out of her mouth, tripping over her tongue as she stuttered to the old woman inquiring as to why she was there. Informed that a man dumped her at the sliding doors of the ER, the nurse would describe her condition as grave. At the time of waking she'd been in the hospital nearly a month. Her face unrecognizable to the staff, no next of kin to contact, the man claimed he knew nothing of her ~ the doctors took it upon themselves to make her whole again. Bones in her face had been crushed, boot marks inprinted the skin so deeply making what would have been permanent impressions, jagged slashes ran down her chest and stomach assumed to be cause by a bowie knife. At the nurse talked, Becky knew why and who. Fear enveloped her, the devil would come back for her, make her pay for her sins. Rehabiltation took months of pain and agony as she learned to walk and talk properly. Her memory of all the events leading up to being dumped on the hospital doorstep returning more each day. Upon her release, she would flee to save her life ....

She'd taken many roads to get to the land of nowhere, all twisting and turning into another journey away from what she knew. Every bitter memory invading her thoughts, she'd fight to keep them at bay. Arms still outstretched at her shoulder length, she'd spin ballerina style on the narrow rail, eyes closed she'd dismount.... If there be a God, her feet would plant themselves on the wood planked bridge ... thus beginning her stroll through life in Hathian, Louisiana.