"Hey, we're sorry for last night, won't happy again, got it? Don't tell anyone. Have fun at school," my mother told me in the van as I slipped on my book bag.
"Tommorrow is your birthday, right?" She asked, gripping the steering wheel. I faced away from her and nodded, not wanting to talk to my abusive mother. I swung open the door of the van, stepping out and trying to ignore all the eyes on me. I trudged into the school building and sat down at my desk in my History class. The bell rang.
"Report cards come out today! I'll pass them out shortly," Mr.Henderson yelled in his normally loud voice. He stomped around the room handing out papers and screaming out the student's worst grade. When he stopped by me, he stared at my report card. He set it on my desk and said nothing, moving on to the next student. I reached out towards it, my hand trembling. If I were to get a bad grade, I'd be beaten even worse. I flipped it over and scanned the grades. They were all A's. I sighed in relief. Maybe this would make life somewhat better. The rest of the class breezed by easily, as for the rest of my easy middle-school classes. I struggled to open my locker, wondering who was driving me home tonight. I picked up my dirty book bag and staggered out of the only safe place in my life. I shot a glance upward, seeing my father in the van today. I bit my bottom lip and tensed, knowing what was coming at me. My father's face was red with anger. Any kid could see he was glaring at me from the van window. I opened the van door and my father raised a beer bottle. I flinched, tensed and waiting for the sharp pain of the glass puncturing my skin, but it didn't happen. I stole a glance at my father as he shook the beer bottle around, looking at the report card that he managed to take from me. I expected a hug for my good grades and a big congratulations when the thought smack me in the face. This was my FATHER. Knowing him, it wasn't likely to happen.
"Raen! Get in the freaking car already! You have chores to do when you get home, and you don't want to get your mother angry at you again, do you?" He bellowed, but luckily, the school yards were loud, so no one heard him. I shook my head and quickly opened the door to the passenger seat and quickly slid in, buckling the seat belt and biting my lower lip, hoping that I wouldn't get beat today.
------Chapter 2-----
My hands were turning wrinkled and my finger tips bled. Washing the dishes was hard enough as it was, but when your mother wants you to wash broken beer bottle pieces, please reconsider. I didn't know the whole point in washing the shattered beer bottle, but I guess it was going along with the torture mother normally puts me through. Except for the water running, the entire house was silent. My mother and father had left to go get drunk, like they normally do every night. I was glad they were gone. When they leave, I have the entire house to myself, no beatings, no screaming, nothing. The sky was beginning to become ablaze with stars, shimmering with light. I wanted to reach out for them, to cry out for them to take me away, but that would just be stupid. They were just stars, how could they help? I felt something warm slide down my cheek, and reaching up with one of my bleeding hands, touched it. It was a tear. The tears kept spilling out, and no matter how hard I tried to keep them back, they would keep dripping out.
"Wh-Why won't they stop...?" I asked myself, closing my eyes tightly and rubbing a worn out sleeve across my face to wipe them off. My breaths came out ragged and full of sobs. I opened my eyes and looked at the brightest thing in the sky; the moon.
"Why am I suffering? What have I ever done to you, God? Was being born the cause of this?" I murmured past the sobs. I looked at the boken beer bottle pieces, seeing my face in every piece. Gently picking up the largest piece and holding it up to my face, just where I could see myself, but cracked and warped. Oddly, a small smile appeared on my face, something I couldn't hold back. I didn't know why I was smiling, because I have nothing to smile about.
"This piece is just like me, cracked and broken,"
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(That's it for now, I will type the next part eventually, so don't worry! This story is just is lazy fail of mine, so if you like it, go ahead. If you ask, I'd be happy to read your stories! Just please, don't trample me with comments about the next part. Chapter two was typed completely from my iPhone, so any mistakes, I'm very sorry! Thank you all for reading and liking my story!)
