When lightning flashed across the dark, blue skies, she was alarmed. Thunders rolled in from afar, creeping closer and tingling down her spine. She closed her eyes and hugged her legs, squirming into a ball, then tuning out the sounds. It continued to drum her ears relentlessly. Her trembling body pulled its hands to cup them. Truth hurt.
S-T-O-P!!! The word trailed off at high decibels. Please stop, she pleaded helplessly. Beads of confusion streamed down. Dark clouds loomed over and drenched her. The adult's way, unconcerned, selfish and skim, was distorted from all texts of parenthood. The rights to corrections, to make right the wrongs, to education, were upsetting the rights of an abused child.
What ifs, she followed their steps. As if expressions of feelings succeeded morality, in which would result. The consequences were appalling.
The ends of a rainbow were not a pot of golds. But, in every child, God painted a rainbow after the rain.
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