The stepfather sat playing with the baby as her mother served dinner. She hated the man. She hated the baby, too. She even hated her mother. But most of all she hated the fact that their dinner, as usual, looked and smelled wonderful, while hers was cold leftover herring taken from the back of the fridge and thrown on a plate. The garbage disposal was where that fish deserved to go, but as usual she was the garbage disposal.
Maria didn’t complain though, she never complained. When she felt like the most insignificant speck of humanity, she turned to her diary and to God. She hoped He cared enough to guide her, to comfort her, to make her feel as if someone cared.
She was eight years old.
Through prayer and perseverance, Maria survived the horrors of her childhood. Years later the child’s diaries surfaced, pages smudged by tears, but hope clearly etched on the old paper.
This work is completed at approx. 76,000 words, and looking for representation. I may be contacted at:
Thank you for your time.
Maria Trautman
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