My eight year old princess

I was nine, she was my princess at eight.

Pretty, kind, and clever.

She would tease me for playing on the slide a lot. I would tease her for her silly dress.

I teased her, not bullied her.

That was Spencer’s job.

Mean, unkind, cruel.

When I caught him biting, hitting and kicking her, I punched him in the face. He ran off crying.

My princess was still on the ground. Still, as in dead.

She was bleeding from her chest.

I was powerless to help her.

To this day, I blame myself for being too slow.

Hopeless, depressed, useless.

Written by Rodney Goodall

Owner of NibbleReads and
building an online income via

Leave A Comment