Thanks for coming to read my story! This is a rewriten story, so some of you may have heard of it. But this one will be much, much better.
Sins Of the Father~
Seventeen years ago today; my parents ‘Jackson, and Martha Perry’ had me, ‘Jack Perry’. My dad is a hardworking man, for himself. He spends most of his time at a bar getting drunk, and thrown out. My mom Martha works as a homebuyer agent; she brings home the cash, and my dad wastes it on a bottle of beer. It’s tough living with the two of them arguing all the time. “I guess it could be worse, right?” Not only that, but my mom is secretly seeing another man. And who knows who my dad is with at night, with him drunk anything is possible. He usually comes through the door and starts yelling at my mother, and when she tells him to calm down; he shoves her against the wall and yells,
“Shut up, I don’t have to listen to your bull crap!” Then he starts throwing her across the room while yelling, and cursing at her; sometimes I have to break it up too. Every night it’s usually like this in my room on the top floor of my old house:
I turn up the loud music while lying in my bed trying to sleep- trying to tune them out. My eyes fill with tears as I look around the room- with hurt and pain raging in my body. I ball my fists as drops of sweat fall form my forehead in anger. I look around the room; the white and dusty blank walls stare at me, and rumble as to what is going on down stairs. My mother is probably getting a beating right now; I want to help her, but then I look down at a bruise on my left arm, and what repeated through my head was, “Do all teenagers go through this?” And another thing went through my mind; last week’s fight, it got out of hand- “Oh right! That’s where the bruise came from.”
Then the song quit playing, and I heard screaming and yelling from my parents. It was going on two in the morning. I covered my head with a pillow, rolled on my side close to the edge of the bed. I looked blankly at the old carpet of my room- it was also dusty. This place is very old, and we moved in about a month ago. My mom wanted a different place, but my dad could only afford this.
As their yelling continued from down stairs; I rose up and ran my fingers through my dark black hair, and rubbing my face in tiredness and nervousness. I lay back down to my soft pillow, and stared up at the white celling- it gave me thoughts such as:
All parents fight and argue, but do they every night? Does every father stagger though the door and rush into an argument with his wife? Does every father beat his son and wife? Does every teenager my age ask questions like this? Should I have to? Why should I have to go through this? “Why?!”
And I’m also the bullied kid at school, who is also bullied at home by his own father. I’m known as the smart and nerdy guy. I get bullied for no reason at all really. I do most of my bully’s homework for them too- since I’m so smart, but they could try asking please- or at least nicely sometimes. I’m called ‘Perry’ by everyone; I seriously hate that name too. I tell them,
“It’s Jack,” Then they’re like; “Whatever, Perry.”
And then the worry settled in- if my dad found out my mom had a boyfriend; he’d kill one of us, and I don’t want to be around when he finds out. I usually like to beat myself up for being born. Between my home life, and school life; it’s pretty hard to handle. “I hate my life,” maybe I should put a bullet in my head, or jump off a cliff. Sometimes the teacher’s notice my bruises that my dad causes; then I get into more trouble. If anyone found out he abused me, he would kill me. “I wish he would.” Sometimes I get so angry I cut myself, and then I remember that it’s stupid. But my whole life is stupid.
And then there’s the beautiful, nerdy ‘Harley Carter.’ Much like me she has many talents; an expert in math, plays the piano, and is on her way to a college degree to be a doctor, or nurse. She has beautiful light brown hair, green eyes with a sparkle that gets in mine sometimes. A voice of an angel that makes my heart flutter. My dream is to marry her when I turn nineteen, and move far away from my parents and their arguing. Then be a doctor, it’s always been another dream since I was five. To help the sick, and injured; I feel their pain; I go through it every day.
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