How to Write a Song
Chapter One
BANG!
The sound of the door echoed throughout the small house. To a stranger, that was just what it sounded like, a door slamming open. But to me, it was an alarm, a warning. The person who had done that was in a bad mood, which definitely didn't work towards my benefit. It meant that I would most likely wake up in the morning bruised and sore.
"GIRL, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!" he roared, his voice making each window vibrate.
I ran down the stairs as fast as I could as to not aggravate him further.
"Yes?" I whispered in fear of what he would most likely do to me.
"Where's my food?" he yelled.
I ran to get the lasagna that I had made recently and placed it on a plate for him. He devoured it in 1 minute flat.
I reached to take the now empty plate away. He went to watch TV with his beer without so much as a "thank you" or even a simple nod.
As I walked to the sink I slipped on the kitchen rug, making me crash to the floor. The plate shattered into pieces, alerting him.
Shit.
He stormed in, a murderous expression upon his face.
"What the HELL? Worthless piece of crap! Can you do nothing right?!" he yelled as he kicked me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me.
As I gasped for air, he picked me up and threw me across the room making me to scream.
That's how it was for at least 3 minutes. Trust me, a lot can happen in that time length. There was punching, kicking and slapping, all directed towards me. There was also some bleeding, screaming and sobbing on my account.
He left to his room when he was satisfied. I got myself up and practically crawled to my room, my little sanctuary. I retrieved the First-Aid kit that I had purchased the day after he'd first beat me. Thank God, it's Friday.
God, I hate my father!
-----------------------~O~------------------------
I bet your wondering who I am. I'm no one special, really.
I'm Bella Swan and I'm 16 years old.
You know the girl who no teacher acknowledges, who wears raggedy old clothes and who is never ever noticed by her fellow piers? The girl who gets beat up occasionally by her only parent? That's me. I know some people have it worse than me, but I must admit that I don't have the best life.
My life wasn't always like this. Seven years ago, I actually enjoyed life. I was exponentially happier then than I am now. That was because my mom was there.
She was our life and we were hers. We were the average happy wealthy family in the United States. She kept our family together. My dad and I loved her with all our heart. My dad was happy and doing well with his job, I was doing great in school and my mom was always smiling. I had done everything with me. She had even taught me piano; it was a way for us to bond. I had even written her a song along with my dad. She was my idol. Everything was perfect. That was until that night.
--Flashback --
We were all in the car coming from dinner. It was raining hard; my dad could barely see 10 feet in front of him even with the car lights on high beam. We were all silent and Dad was completely concentrated on the road.
We turned on a blind curve and right there smack-dab in the middle of the freaking road was a deer. Dad swerved, barely avoiding it. He lost control as the car skewed of the road. All our screams of terror were merged together as the car crashed into a tree at 50 miles per hour. I blacked out.
--End Flashback--
I had woken up in a white hospital room with a broken leg and a concussion. My dad had a broken arm, a concussion and four broken ribs. My mom never had a chance; she had died instantly.
When I found out, I was completely devastated. I had stopped playing piano for some time. I started again since I figured out it was a way to connect with her.
My dad was deeply affected with the news. He had changed completely after that. At first he scarcely spoke to me and he barely went to work. However, he started drinking, more and more with each passing day.
One day he was totally wasted. He was crazy and mad for some reason, or probably no reason. He barged through the door and charged towards me. That was the first night he had beat me. I had been screaming and sobbing, begging him to stop. He didn't, well, not until 7 minutes later. Not only had he beat me, but he destroyed my piano, my beautiful piano.
After that, I was absolutely positive that he didn't care for me nor did he love me. I had cried for hours once I figured it out. I knew that if I disappeared no one would care and nothing would change for anyone. Charlie would just curse me and he'd start ordering Take-out instead of my cooking. My broken piano was like another scoop of ice-cream on my sundae of sorrow. Heh, that had made me cry even more. The only thing that keeps me going is…. well, I don't know. I just don't want to die yet.
No thoughts of suicide have ever occurred to me, but another option of changing my life has. I've been thinking for days, no weeks about it. Nothing is keeping me here in the outskirts of Salem, Oregon.
I have just been pondering whether or not I have the courage to do it. But I just recently made my decision. I will do this. I'll run away. I've already done my research on where I'm going to go. I'm going to Forks, Washington tomorrow.
