Hello readers! It's me, Dot! I'm writing this story, along with another one, called My Torturer, Back Again! Check it out!
Tell me in a review whether I should continue or not!
Here you go!
Songs From The Trees
Fang POV
I was walking through park, just like everyday. Except this time, I was walking at night.
I don't know why, I just felt like the world was pushing me to come to this specific part of the park, at this time of night.
Something possessed me, and I sat under a tree that would be perfect to climb, but I don't climb trees, ever since I broke my leg falling out of one.
After an hour or so, I stood up and brushed the dirt from my pants. Just as I took a step to leave, a beautiful, melodious voice rang out.
It was obviously a girl's voice, and the voice sounded my age, a seventeen year old, if you wanted to know.
The voice was singing a song, a song that was so sad, it made me want to cry.
I don't cry. People have called me an emotionless brick wall, because I don't really smile, and I can count the times I've cried on one hand.
"You've got to be strong, it'll all go away," The voice ended, and then I heard a strangled breath, as if the owner of the voice was trying not to cry.
It was probably some nerd from choir.
With that, I walked away, my footsteps silent.
MAXIMUM RIDE
MAX POV
I slowly climbed my tree, going to my favorite branch.
This was the place where I think.
Think about what?
Well, the hell I call home, school, and the whole reason I stay strong, my little sister, Angel.
You may be saying, "Geez! This girl's thoughts are depressed!"
Well, I have reason.
I'm abused. By my mother and father, Jeb and Valencia Batchelder.
Not a smart aleck now, are you?
I come up here, and Angel plays in the sandbox.
I sing up here. Angel tells me I have an amazing voice, but I think I sound like a dying whale.
I finished a song called It'll All Be Okay, then just sat there.
School was the next subject.
School isn't that great, either. I get straight A's, if I didn't I'd get beat worse than usual, but the popular kids make fun of me.
I've been called emo, goth, stupid, ugly, fat, (I know fat isn't true, I barely eat anything, I can almost see my ribs) but the one that hurts the most is daddy's girl. They don't know how bad that last one hurts. They thought it up when my dad picked me up from school once.
After that, I climbed out of the tree, looking for Angel.
I saw her in her long sleeved dress with tights, building a sand castle quietly.
We can't wear short sleeves or shorts, because it would show off the scars, or the bruises, or the cuts.
Yet my mom buys us those clothes anyways, as a sick joke.
I walked up to her, smiling at her innocence as she played with dolls in her castle.
"Angel, we have to go," I said, gently picking her up, avoiding a place I had seen her get a bruise.
She nodded, and got up quietly, without complaint. Her blue eyes had lost that twinkle that she had tried so hard to hold into. Her blonde curls still bounced when she walked, though.
We arrived home on time, and Angel slipped behind the couch, crawled behind it, then scurried to the stairs, to our room.
I waited five seconds, then went next. Halfway to the stairs, I got stopped.
"Hello, Maximum!" My mother said in a sickly sweet tone, holding a bat.
This was the scary part.
My parents aren't drunk when they beat us. They aren't high, either. They do it because they hate us, because we weren't what they wanted as children.
I'm seventeen, and Angel is ten.
I've been beaten since I was five, then when I was seven, Angel was born. The beatings got less and less until they disappeared, because my parents thought that Angel would be the perfect child. And for six years, she was. Then, when she turned six, she spilled a glass of milk all over the kitchen table, ruining the newspaper. That set my parents off. At the time I was eleven, and didn't fully trust my parents. They pushed her down the stairs, hit her with a belt, and they even took out a knife until I turned the attention towards me.
I decided that I was stronger than Angel, so I would take the beatings. That's the way it has worked for the past six years. That's why I haven't run away, because Angel wouldn't make it.
Okay, enough about my awful past, let's get back to my awful present.
"Hello, Valen- mom!" I said, correcting myself, knowing she hated when I called her Valencia. The word mom rolled off my tongue like acid.
I didn't even have a chance to react before the bat was connecting with my stomach.
Being used to this, I sucked in a breath, then moving quickly, I managed to dodge her attacks and get up the stairs to Angel and my room.
"Maxie!" Angel cried, running towards me, an ice pack already in her hands. We kept medical supplies in our room, they're used daily.
Angel is the only one that can call me Maxie. Some people at school tried it and ended up in the nurse's office.
Angel tended to my wound, then crawled into her bed.
But while she was wrapping my stomach, I had a thought, one that could possibly make my life less miserable.
I decided that if I was strong enough to go through this, I could stand up to the kids at school.
I crawled into my bed, the one closest to the door, and fell asleep, planning how to get out of this hellhole tomorrow morning, to get to school.
From this day on, I will live up to my name. The reason I changed Angel and my last name from our parents'.
I will be Maximum Ride.
