This is the very true story of a sweet, “sparkling” little girl just 11 years old.
What does it mean? I’ll leave that to you to decide. This is simply her story as she knows it–truth locked deep within the soul of a child.
It started with Playtime
She loved art and writing. At a very young age, she and her siblings practiced their imagination by creating stories together. Stories of heroes and villains, of treasure hunts and wild beasts, of spaceships and laser battles. Everything a normal kid would dream about.
Gradually, she got inspired to take those stories deeper. At just eleven years old, she began crafting her ultimate masterpiece. She dreamed of this story being a published book and celebrated in movies one day. She dreamed that this story would be dear to her heart, the most exciting story she’s ever read!
She was daring and intelligent, as was everyone in the family. To attempt a feat of this magnitude was nothing new to anyone. Or to her.
The result wasn’t quite what she expected.
The Bleeding Pen
Sentence after sentence, she poured herself onto the pages. She told herself that the secret to an ultimate, moving story was to make it real. From the heart. It had to jump off the page and touch the reader’s heart. It had to take on a life of its own. It had to be genuine.
So she wrote. So she bled.
After crafting the world, the characters, the plot, the scenes, and a few chapters… she took a step back at her work. Sadness weighed her shoulders. She sighed in disappointment. Had she failed? Was this really real? It couldn’t be. There’s no way!
It was filled with horror, darkness, blood, tyranny, hopelessness, enslavement, and death. Where did it come from? What could possibly have inspired it? She hadn’t meant for the story to be this way.
She gave up on the story, thinking she had failed. This wasn’t what was in her heart. This was a mistake. She just didn’t have what it took to write an ultimate story after all.
The Mysterious Inspiration
Where did this dark story come from? No one knew. But a mere child cannot create something out of thin air. It had to have come from somewhere.
Her parents were perfect, too perfect.
It didn’t come from entertainment or media. She was never allowed to watch scary movies. The worst scary movie she’d seen was Lord of the Rings. Yet, her story was much darker and more hopeless than Frodo could have ever imagined. Her story had too different a shape and tone to have been inspired by that hero’s journey.
They played innocent puzzle and mind computer games, like Pajama Sam and Roller Coaster Tycoon.
They didn’t go to public school. She’d been homeschooled her whole life, save for 2nd grade.
They didn’t have friends. Just one girl a couple blocks away who she rarely saw, who later moved away.
Their church that her Dad pastored was mostly just a pocket of elderly folks.
She loved Jesus and knew the Bible well. She would even read it often.
They rarely went to any events outside the house, being short on money.
No, her entire life just consisted of her, her parents, and her siblings. Always had been. So what could have been the mysterious inspiration for her dark story?
Read it for yourself and see:
Weakness means Death. Power means Perfection.
Nirad were the most feared, fiercest warriors in the whole universe. From planet to planet, solar system to solar system, and across the galaxy–no one dared hope in the presence of a Nirad. A single squad or one highly-trained Nirad could bring a whole nation to its knees. And they did.
Nilo, the emperor and self-proclaimed god of the Nirad, used his power to conquer planet after planet. He reduced them to servitude to amass wealth and power for himself.
Nilo was the original Nirad. His special weapons, crafted by a unique metal only he knew how to forge, was the secret to his power. This metal, when properly coaxed, could become anything he desired in an instant. He invented a chip that could be implanted in the brain. This chip could read thoughts and command the metal as it’s user desired.
At the speed of thought, a Nirad could kill a stadium of people in minutes. Their training, technology, and weaponry stood unsurpassed for hundreds of years.
Every Nirad received this chip. Once implanted, no surgery known to man could remove it without killing the user. To keep his Nirad warriors from using their power against him, Nilo added extra features to the chip.
Firstly, it could translate memories and vision into a computer image. Nilo, or any superior commander, could download a Nirad’s entire life and watch it on a screen. They could find out the soldiers secrets and punish him. They could also use the information for their own gain. They would often send Nirad on spy missions to gather information. A Nirad needed only to see the information once. All these memories were stored in a vault in Nilo’s space ship. Nilo boasted of having ultimate power because he literally held the lives of all his warriors in his hands.
Secondly, the chip could self destruct with a single word. At any moment, for any reason, a superior commander or even Nilo himself could say a word and any Nirad would drop dead.
As if ultimate control and wealth were not enough, Nilo still feared that he would lose his place of power should his warriors and subjects rebel. So he proclaimed himself to be a god. He carefully crafted a religion centered around himself and his will. Nirad worshiped him as the only Perfect warrior. Everyone’s ultimate goal in life was to be as close to Perfect like Nilo as possible. Then they will be granted immortality along with Nilo and gain special powers and privileges. Best of all, they will gain Nilo’s personal recognition.
Recognition was for that ONE warrior alone who achieved ultimate Perfection. Until then, no one was ever acknowledged–from the least talented to the greatest commander. No one was Perfect. That meant, to some varying level, all were Weak.
“Weakness means Death. Power means Perfection,” was Nilo’s motto. It rang in every Nirad’s ears. Every Nirad strove to eliminate Weakness from himself. It was their lifelong struggle, one that always ultimately ended in failure. In the last few hundred years, no one had EVER been acknowledged as Perfect. Not one. Yet, every Nirad still tried his best, fearing the alternatives if they didn’t: death.
Nilo was strangely absent all the time, only showing his face for certain special occasions. No one minded. He was a god. He had more important things to do.
The truth was that Nilo never intended to name anyone as Perfect, again for fear of losing his place of authority and power. It was a lie to keep everyone in check. Perhaps he even believed it and never saw anyone more Perfect than himself.
Nilo also persecuted Christianity. He hated all religions, but none more so than this. His nation, called Nilonia, had small pockets of frightened underground Christians who met in secret, despite the threat of Nirad. Somehow, they managed to stay hidden from the Nirad.
This is the life that one young man, named Justin, was raised into. He was the son of a very important Nirad General, Taras. They lived in a luxurious mansion built into the side of a tall mountain, looking high above the capital city of Nilonia. From there, they could clearly see Nilo’s Temple, where the first Perfect Warrior would be named if Nilo ever acknowledged anyone.
That was Justin’s dream, to be acknowledged. Not by Nilo, but by his father. Even if it took gaining ultimate Perfection.
He had been training to be a Nirad his entire life. It was expected of him by his father and the rest of society. His father would often beat him and yell at him that he was weak and worthless. Justin took it as a good thing. The more his father beat and yelled at him, the harder he trained. It fueled him. That’s why his father treated him so harshly, was it not? To motivate him. To make him perfect. One day, he would be. One day, he would be acknowledged by his father–or die trying.
One thing he didn’t understand: why his father rarely took the time to train him. Justin had to either find help from somewhere else or learn on his own. Again, this set back didn’t deter him. He had no choice. It was this or die.
There was one happy detail about Justin’s life: his mother, Ranette. She was very pretty. Long hair, perfect skinny waist, curvy red dress–she was the love of his life. He protected her and cared for her as best he could, which was very little. While Taras was often present in the mansion, he was never caring for the mansion or focused on raising his son. That was left for Ranette. She did it with kindness, compassion, and love.
She and Justin held a deep relationship. He respected and admired her more than anyone in the world. She even taught him about God in secret, knowing Justin would never betray her. Justin was not sure about believing in God, for he was far too focussed on avoiding getting killed and tortured by Taras. Such was the price for weakness. He could not afford to believe in God. But still, he respected his mother’s beliefs.
She was everything to him. It broke his heart when Taras would beat her and yell at her like he did to Justin. That fueled his desire for recognition even more. He believed that if he won his father’s approval, all of the torture would stop–for him and his mother. It was the only way out.
In the story, Justin finds out the truth: his father would NEVER acknowledge him. It was an impossible dream. And neither would Nilo. It was all a lie to keep him enslaved to their will so they could use him to feed their greed for wealth and power. Everything he was–his memories, his talent, his thoughts–all belonged to them. He was property, a tool. His purpose was for their gain, theirs alone. Nothing more. There was nothing left for him but obedience or death. He had already surrendered everything to them and could not get it back.
That day that Justin made this shocking discovery, he was fatally wounded by his father. Ranette rushed Justin to the underground church, where he was healed and cared for. But Justin had lost everything. Worse still, he was now on the run from the Nirad. They need only be within range and say the word, then he’d be dead. And then Ranette and the entire underground church would be slaughtered.
That is where the girl writing this story gave up. To this day, no conclusion has been written.
Is there a Happy Ending?
Someone once said,
“To write means more than putting pretty words on a page; the act of writing is to share parts of your soul with the world.”
She didn’t mean to write this story. She loved C.S. Lewis stories–bright, adventurous, heroic. She’d always been inspired by stories from the Bible such as David and Goliath, Daniel and the Lions Den, Noah and the Ark. She only wanted to write something genuine from her heart. Something real.
But this… where did this come from?
If you see any similarity in this story to any movies, be rest assured she had never laid eyes on those movies before. Not even Star wars or Lion King. Probably still hasn’t. Their parents strictly limited what they watched, so much so that even today she has not seen many of the commonly known movie classics.
For the next 6 years, until she was almost 18, she wrestled fiercely with her story. Surely there was something wrong. Surely there was a way to change it, make it better. This can’t be what her story is really about.
Nothing worked. Endless revision after revision always returned back to the original plot and characters. Her siblings and parents can witness how hard she tried to “fix” it.
In the end, she gave up. She kept the original story but decided to try to finish it. She still dreamed of having a finished, polished novel to impress her family and church.
This too left her empty-handed. She quickly realized that she couldn’t write what she didn’t have. If she had indeed poured out her soul, her soul was now empty. It had shared everything within it. To her despair, she realized that her story needed a happy ending as desperately as she did. She knew there was an answer, but she didn’t have that answer. Not yet. Maybe… one day… she might.
So she closed the unfinished story for the last time, promising herself to one day open it again if she ever found that happy ending.
7 Years Later…
The girl is now 25, happily married and pregnant with their first child. Questions about how to raise her new son drove her back into her past. It started a journey of questions that she hadn’t expected find. Was her childhood really as perfect as she always thought it was?
One innocent question after another led deeper and deeper into the truth of her childhood. A clear picture began to form as she now stood on the balcony looking down at her life. She then realized the meaning of her childhood story.
It HAD been a mirror of her 11-year-old soul! She hadn’t failed. She’d succeeded–better than she had intended to.
The details of this story mirror actual events so accurately, it is scary to think this could be real. But there is no other explanation that makes sense. This can’t be a coincidence. This has to be the mysterious inspiration.
This story was her view of her childhood, exactly as she saw it. This was the honest way a small child saw the world. It was not just a story, it was HER story.
The Inspiration Revealed
Justin, of course, was the girl herself.
The “god” Nilo, Emperor of Nilo, ruler of the Nirad is the girl’s own father. Absent, Perfect, godlike power, strict with rules, protecting his power at all costs, feeding his own greed, centering everything around himself.
Justin’s father, Taras, is actually inspired by the girl’s mother. Tall, heavy-set, yelling a lot, not responsible for the house or for raising Justin, always there to yell and beat Justin for not being Perfect, really a victim of Nilo as much as Justin himself was, had given up on life and was just going with the system.
Justin’s mother, who had actually raised him and cared for him, whom he loved dearly… is the girl’s older sister. The girl was the second child so her sister was the oldest of the family. This sister, like Ranette, had responsibility for keeping the house, feeding everyone, and raising them. This girl had never felt affection for her parents, to her own dismay, the way she felt towards her older sister. She dreamed of becoming like her sister one day. She didn’t want to be like her parents. She felt bad for feeling that way and didn’t understand why.
The chip implant is the authoritative parenting and discipline that ruled the household. Even Taras himself possessed one. Only Nilo had ultimate control of all the chip implants. No one could override his authority. Under its power and control, not even your thoughts and memories are your own. Your body, mind, soul, emotions–everything is a weapon for Nilo’s gain and does not belong to you.
The story is so well crafted to match almost every detail about the girl’s world growing up. But, as the girl was making the connection between this story and her childhood, there was one thing still missing. If this story truely WAS her own representation of her childhood, then there would have to be one vital piece included in the story. Without this vital piece, this story could not possibly be a story of her soul.
That vital piece: spanking.
Her parents did not believe in any other form of teaching or correction. They always spanked the same way, no matter what the event. They spanked until the victim screamed for as long as they believed necessary. The screaming was important, not the number of swats. The swats often ranged from 15-30. They were spanked for everything–not understanding, misinterpreting, failing to learn quickly, as well as blatant rebellion. It was how they taught.
So where was spanking in this story? At first glance, spanking seems strangely absent. Yes, there was some beating from Taras, but not nearly as much as the yelling and shaming. No, spanking was a very special event.
Then it hit. The girl stopped short, hardly able to breathe. She knew what spanking was in her story. It was very obvious now. Her heart sank. This was the final piece, the proof she needed. This story had definitely come from her soul, representing her childhood. She’d kept this truth hidden out of the need to try to be Perfect for her parents. Any weakness, any doubt, would be met with severe consequences. Whether she wanted to or not didn’t matter. Never had. Only survival.
This sobering tale left her with much to think about. She looked back at that 11-year-old child, her past self, with sadness. Was this… was this really how a child sees spanking? It all made sense now.
Spanking, in a child’s story from the honest depths of her soul, had been likened to death itself.
That means this was more than a story–it was her living nightmare. With each spanking, it was like death–her death, the death of her character–due to being Weak and Imperfect. Then she’d be “reborn,” only to try again and fail.
Hundreds, possibly a thousand times, reliving the exact same story. Each time she’d try for the goal of Perfection–her only way out. Only then, her story would not end in death. Only then, she would gain approval.
No matter how many times she was “reborn,” her story ended the same way. The cycle seemed endless. But still, each time she hoped. Each time she tried.
“Perfection” was her hope that one day her parents would not have to spank her anymore. That she’d be free. That she’d finally earn their approval.
Until one day, she realized that this was a broken dream. They never intended to let her reach Perfection. It was a lie, an impossible hope. They would never acknowledge her. They had never actually given her the chance. She wasn’t to blame for this cycle–they wanted her here. They wanted to keep her enslaved, trapped. There had never been any hope of escape.
But it didn’t matter. She would still die, either way, whether she tried or not.
And so the cycle continued.
This girl, more than any of her siblings, had been spanked and yelled the most. Since that fateful first spanking at almost 2 years old, until she was 12 her screams had echoed across the house on a daily basis. She was just… different. She couldn’t “get” things like her siblings did. She had to be fixed, at any cost.
Even at 11 years old, the threat of spanking had not been lifted. Though now their frequency was finally waning thinner, she wasn’t a “better behaved” child–just deader, number. That’s the way her parents liked it.
They made that very clear one day when suddenly the spankings returned in full force. Every day, for at least a full week, she screamed. It was the last spanking she remembers. She could not pick herself up this time. She’d died inside–permanently.
Every day since then, the hollow corpse in the mirror stared back at her with empty, lifeless eyes. The message her parents had worked so hard to teach her had finally taken root. Her body was dirty, worthless. She adopted their hate as her own, beating herself at every waking hour. Pain felt good. It was all she could feel now. All she’d ever known. It was better than nothing.
She’d held out for over a decade of hitting and screaming. But even she could not last forever. She wasn’t sure if holding out for so long was bravery or foolishness. Giving up meant she was one step closer to ending her life for real. That’s what her parents wanted, right? They never loved her for who she was. She was trash, sinful, broken, wicked. She was nothing to them. She WAS their problem–and there was only one way to get rid of it and finally please them.
Only heaven knows why she’s still alive today. Read carefully, listen well, for it is only by a miracle that she is able to tell you this story. Her story.
I’ll let you decide for yourself. Is this real? Or is it a coincidental effect of a child’s overactive imagination?
If you would like an in-depth Bible study about what God says about spanking, download this free book by Samuel Martin: Thy Rod and Thy Staff They Comfort Me. It explores the background, culture, original Hebrew, and full meaning of the classic “spanking” verses in the Bible. Hopefully, it will give you more clarity in your journey towards learning to be a Godly, loving parent. I loved it! It wasn’t pushy or invasive. It simply laid out the scriptures so I could make the very best informed decision possible.