AN: This is an idea that has been in my head for awhile…I actually started writing it for NaNoWriMo but got really busy and never finished it. It's really hard for me to write ideas that are in my head and actually be happy with the writing that comes with it. To me this story isn't as grown up as I wished to make it. I tried to do a serious tone but it just didn't come out like I want it to and I hope to nurture and help this story grow. This is actually my first story that has chapters so if anyone actually reads it then I hope you enjoy.

Prologue

I'm scared,

Today my parents fought

Like every day before

I hid under the maple tree just outside the yard

I didn't want to hear the screams

And the yelling too

Or my mommy saying, "Please don't hit me anymore!"

It usually never gets this bad

I don't want to hear her cries

She told me not to say anything or else I'd be in trouble

So I'll just wait it out until I can go back inside.

-Shannon Donnally

My name is Shannon Donnally I'm finally 12 years old. My favorite thing is writing poetry in my backyard. People always look at me with pity in their eyes. They look at me and we both know what goes on in my house. My parents always fight but no one ever says anything, they just look at me with copious thought in their heads. My mom never talks anymore; in fact all she does is cry. She tries to cover up the bruises so no one say's anything. My dad is hardly ever home and when I ask where he goes he always just replies "Well money doesn't just grow on trees and I've gotta buy grocery's somehow". Everyone just calls him a drunk. He never used to be violent with my mom. We used to be pretty happy until my dad got unemployed from his job from causing a fight with his coworker. His did a seemingly good job at breaking the other guys nose. So with the lawsuit that followed we were pretty hard for cash. My dad eventually was able to get a job at the 'garbage dump'. He doesn't like it when I call it that. He prefers a more fancy term like recycling plant he says it makes him seem more respectable. That was when he became angry and the violence started.

My grandma is my best friend. She's the only one I feel comfortable talking to about private matters. She constantly tells my mom, "Teresa no one but yourself can change your situation, you just need to stand up and leave and get your life in order." Mom never leaves though; I think it's because she feels that she would be considered a failure if she couldn't fix her marriage. I would never judge her, I understand, I see what she goes through. If I am ever allowed to leave I head to my grandmother's.

My grandma (she always tells me to call her Sherry because she feels that Grandma seems too old) is turning 70 this year, but she seems so much younger and everyone tells me so. She doesn't like when I tell anyone her age (but of course you won't tell on me since your just a journal) and it always makes me smile. I love when she bakes me cookies in the afternoon when I get home from school. Chocolate chip, they are always chocolate chip since that's the only homemade cookies she has a recipe for. She always smirks and replies, "A cookie's not a cookie unless it's homemade." Personally I just think she takes the whole grandma thing a little too far. You see I'm her only grandchild and my mom was the only child she ever had. She says she's glad she only had one because she had had all the snotty tissues she could take. I always laugh when she tells me this; it always makes me feel like one-of-a-kind. Always a constant topic at Grandma's house is Grandpa. My Grandpa died when I was about four, but from all the romantic stories that I hear from 'Sherry' I feel as if I have always known him personally.

Now Journal that you're all caught up this is where my real story begins.