Okay, so this is my first story. It's also my first day of being here.
I hope you enjoy. :] I'm posting the next chapter right after this, but it'll generally take me a week to update for each chapter.
I'm uploading this because I need critiques of it. I also would LOVE to you to point out if you find any typos, so I can fix them.
"You can shed tears that she is gone,
or you can smile because she has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that she'll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all she's left.
Your heart can be empty because you can't see her,
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember her only that she is gone,
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back
Or you can do what she'd want:
smile, open your eyes, love and go on."
Fists flew at me. They pounded my skull. The pain had become dulled by the mere amount of it. Every blow to my body seemed to be coming at a rhythm now. As I slid down the wall, I could see my father above me, wiping his hands. Crimson liquid ran down them, and dripped onto the floor, almost like the unfreezing water from an icicle at the beginning of spring. "Goddamn girl," I could hear him grunt, shaking his head, "even her blood is a bloody problem." He had smiled at his own pun, and punched his fist, causing my own blood to fly off his hand and onto my face, which was already soaked in my own blood. I sighed silently. I had to get out of here. As soon as I recovered enough from this I'd sneak out. I silently concured with my mind and let the blurriness fade away as I, myself faded into unconsciousness.
When I had awoken I found myself to be in my bedroom, or, you could say, my lack of one. My bedroom was the old attic at the very top of the house. I had cleaned it to my best abilities over my lifetime of living here, but it was still very dirty. No one could deny that from the lack of new hardwood floors (since the ones on the floor were stained), the wallpaper missing from the ceiling (since the old one had started to peel years ago), and the many holes in the walls from the fights with my father.
If you're wondering why I haven 't mentioned my mother yet, I'll tell you now. My mother died many years ago, when I was only six years old. She was raped and murdered, but no one has found the man who did it. It's very unsettling to live like that, you see. Ever since then, my father and I have lived with only each other. Besides his many whores he brings over from time to time (more like week to week, for a week). Since my mother died my father started to abuse me. More and more each year, as I got older to stand it. It made me seclude myself from people at school, and learn to grow up by myself. I don't make friends because of it, nor do I know how. So that made me look weird at school, I suppose. I would reject people's invitations to come play, in school or after school. Eventually they hated me for it. I was the school weirdo. I kept quiet, and to myself. Eventually to the point where everyone began to think I was a mute. I got picked on, bullied physically and verbally. Then, when I came home from school, instead of having someone to comfort me, I just had to deal with it all over again. It was enough to make any sane person commit suicide, out of pity for themself. But not me. I was confident that I had something that was going to happen to make this all better. Something was different about me from everyone else, and I knew it. I didn't know why I thought that, but I did. I knew I'd find out one day.
I sighed, and sat up in my cot. I know I needed to remember something, I just couldn't remember... Aha! That's it. I had planned to escape this hell-hole. I looked to the window to figure out what time it might be. It was dark out. Quickly I pulled my arm out from under the covers to look at it, but winced. I had moved too quickly. I had forgotten about the events that had occurred earlier that day. "Right..." I muttered to myself almost inaudibablly, then looked down at my watch. It was 11pm. Perfect. My father was out at the bar every night at this time getting slowly smashed and looking for some whore to spend the night with, or bring back to our place. He might be back home or not. If he comes back home though, it would be around three in the morning. I sighed loudly. I had the house to myself.