21st August 2010

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21st August 2010

Dear Jemma,

You are more like a mirror than a friend, I can pour out all my emotions to you until you are a paper and ink version of myself. I carry you everywhere with me now, along with a pen.

I was fine when I woke up in the morning- most of my wounds had scabbed over but still there was a consistent throbbing in my head. Luckily for me I had slept through the worst of the pain. Sunlight streamed through my cracked window reflecting on my desk and bouncing around the room casting strange reflections on my whitewashed wall. Hang on a minute I thought- sunlight? My parents had never woken me up before dawn. I stayed huddled in a ball under my covers wondering why they hadn't come yelling into my room. Confused and stunned I shut my eyes trying to make the best of that extra time. It was no use. The sun seeped under my eyelids- irritating me. I lay there for what felt like another few  hours until curiosity and restlessness took over me; I was not use for sleeping for that long. As I tiptoed downstairs I heard my parents chatting and laughing. Had they forgotten about me? Surely not, they wouldn't have wanted to miss their breakfast. I walked into the room feeling sick; I braced myself for a whack. Slowly, I pushed open the rusty door and they both stared at me. No thump, no slaps just silence. What surprised me the most was the plates laden with sausages and toast! Did they actually get of hteir lazy bottoms and make their own breakfast? My father was the first one to break the gaze. He grunted and returns to his piled plate. Stunned and more than slightly suspicious I jumped up onto the kitchen table and dangled my legs.

"Girl" spat my mother venomously. So much for being kind "I want you to weed my flowerbed. ANY MISTAKES AND YOU WILL PAY!" Oh so that was why she was being nice. She didn't want me to ruin her precious flowers. I couldn't say I was surprised, her flowers meant the world to her- much more than me and about equal to my father. I nodded my head frantically.

Apparently- as my parents have yelled many times before in rages- my mother's dream was to become a world-famous florist. After I was born everything changed; instead of going out to important garden shows with my father she was forced to stay at home and look after me. It is my fault that they're not living in some posh palace with tons of cash in the West-End. It was then that my parents gave up trying and the abuse started. And so far, it hasn't stopped.

I don't know a thing about gardening, whenever my mother's tending to her beloved flowers I am forced to stay in my hidden in my room. My fathers not a problem, he stands outside my door his fists clenched- breathing heavily. I hate it.

I bit my tongue so that I would not argue back to my mother. This tactic that has worked many times before and has never failed me yet. I stepped out into the gelid morning air- shivering like a feather. Soon afterwards my mother throws a bucket, metal spade- and other gardening utensils that I don't know the name of- behind me. The flower patch is amazing. A piece of gold in a field of metal, the flower patch being the gold and the rest of the wild garden the field of metal. Although I don't have a clue what to do I am willing to try. This is the first time I have been asked and I don't want my face smashed in. It shortly becomes clear why my mother had left me to weed the flowers instead of herself, she and my father drove of in the rusty car without a word of information to me. I paced the perimeter of the flowers, wondering where to start. Among the maze of colour; green weeds twisted round the beautiful flowers, innocently choking them. Should I have began at the sunny marigolds, or the velvety scarlet roses? Or maybe I should've dug the huge spade into the pastel bluebells which almost seemed to twinkle. At last I decided to start plucking out the weeds from some pink chrysanthemums which seemed to look more like pieces of art than flowers. It turned out (or so I thought) that gardening was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was dig out the weeds and put them in a bucket. After hours of back-breaking work I was finally satisfied. I guessed the time was about mid-afternoon and although sweat was dripping down my face and my muscles ached, I was pleased and proud with my work. For once I actually wanted my parents to come home so I could show them my good efforts. Maybe they would of actually been proud of me. I wish. My mother found me lolling next to the flower patch now rid of weeds. I looked at her eagerly, my eyes shining. She stared at the flower patch for a  moment, then her handbag dropped to the floor in shock. Behind her my father and two other men sauntered into the house. I didn't know who those men were and frankly, I didn't care.

"OH MY GOSH, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! ALL I ASKED YOU TO DO WAS PULL OUT THE WEEDS! CAN'T YOU EVEN GET THAT RIGHT YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF ****!" My mother was yelling at me and pointing at the bucket. I was perplexed, I had done it!


"I-I-I'm sorry!" I stutter "I thought they were weeds because they weren't as sm-" She cuts me off in mid-sentence.

"YOU THOUGHT?" My mother cackled mirthlessly "NOW THERE ARE GAPS IN THE FLOWERS YOU STUPID LITTLE IDIOT! GET OVER HERE, NOW!" I hesitated before taking a step which was probably the worst thing I could do as it angered my mother even more. I stood frozen, waiting for the hiding which I knew was coming. Instead she yanked my arm and started dragging me through the mud towards the dank shed. Whenever I tried to pull away she growled and tightened her grip, her sharp nails puncturing my delicate skin. Approaching the shed, my mother unbolted the wooden door and shoved me inside. Before locking it shut behind me she shrieked


She slammed the door shut and darkness descended around me. I was hardly ever allowed to set foot inside the shed. There were no windows and no gaps so it was pitch black. Mysterious grey shapes loomed above me. What could they be? Monsters? Murderers? With the little strength I had left I lunged for the door thrusting myself against it while screaming for someone to come and let me out. Weeping, I took a couple of paces back and tripped over something metal. I had no shoes on so this just made me hurt even more. Miserable and terrified out of my wits, I curled up on the cold floor waiting to be let out. After what felt like infinity I heard barely audible voices outside my door. One belonged to my father and I assumed the other two to the men I had glimpsed earlier. One of the men's voices was gravelly and gruff whereas the others cold and calculating. I didn't like it at all and I was too tired to make out what they were saying. I started shouting again and banging on the door but the men either couldn't hear me or weren't paying any attention. When the voices finally died down I assumed they had gone. They left a freezing gale in my wake. I sat down and cried until I could cry no more. A sudden crash startled me. Thunder. I could hear the branches of the trees creaking and the howling wind whistling through my washing line. By now the whole shed was shaking and so was I both from fear and cold. Then came the lightning. It became my only source of light but I was far from relieved. Every time a fork of it illuminated the shed I would jump and wonder if it was going to strike  the shed in which is was in. I so hoped it would collide the house where my parents sat. I felt something crawling up my leg and tried to scream despite my cracked and  barely perceptible voice. I had always hated spiders and every other type of insect. I think I cried away an ocean of tears that night, every time I attempted to sleep, another clash of thunder would wake me with a start but some time in the night I must have cried myself to sleep...

The lesson I have learnt today is that when life gives you lemons never use them to weed a garden.

Help me please, 


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