Smashing hearts

Breath

It was my first day at school, ever. Shocking it is, I know. But since I was five, I had been 'home schooled' by my uncle. But instead of learning maths, sciences, languages and other topics, my uncle taught me how to be frightened, how to hate and that no one is ever to be trusted. I doubted any of these abilities would help me in school. But they built my personality and I hoped that someone out there, would want to be my friend. I've never had a friend. I've never been given the chance. I want that to change. I remember the day my uncle told me I would be going to school after the summer and how he spat it out with venom. At first I couldn't understand why he had let me go to school after all these years, but it dawned on me later. Recently my uncle and Tim had the pleasure to welcome Susan, a social worker, who found it her business to make sure I was alive. And it stopped there. Normally she would giggle and flirt with uncle John, but the last time she paid us the great honour of a visit, Susan had a serious look to her face. She spoke to my uncle in hushed whispers, but I still managed to capture a few words. Jasmine, suspicious, Officials, school and law were the only words I could pick out from the secretive conversation. They all made sense now. The Officials must have become suspicious about me missing or never going to school, and intervened. I wished I could thank them.

I opened my cupboard door. Inside hung my school uniform. I was glad that I didn't have to wear my own clothes to school, because all I had were two black tops, a black jumper and two black jeans. The uniform was simple and plain. I smiled because it was mostly black and that just happened to be my favourite colour. There was a white, tight blouse paired with a black cardigan, and a small black skirt. I was surprised at first that my uncle had actually bought me these items, but I guess he didn't really have a choice. But he did groan at me, saying that I was stealing all the money they had and this 'groan' was shortly followed by a painful beating. I began to inspect the fresh bruises on my arms and inspected in the mirror my forehead. The gash was barely visible ; it had healed quickly. With a puff of my precious foundation, it disappeared. The foundation used to belong to my mother. My throat stifled a sob as hidden memories came rushing back. With a quick swipe of my hand, the tear that had escaped my eye, vanished. My name is Jasmine King and I haven't seen my mother since I was five. I don't know what happened to her or my father. I am 16 years of age, soon to be 17. I have no known siblings and I don't even know if John is actually my uncle. To be honest I don't care. Another thing uncle taught me how to do, was how to not care about anyone. This had to change. No one would like me at school if it didn't change soon. My uncle and his son were always out late at night and normally don't return home till the next day. They weren't in, as I made my way to school. I was off to a good start.