"MOMMY, NO! STOP HURTING HER! HIT ME INSTEAD!"

"Shut u-up you little brat, go t-to your room now."

"No! No, I'm not leaving so you can hurt her more! GO AWAY, MOMMY!"

"What the hell is going on in here…?"

"NO! Daddy, GO AWAY!" I was screaming as hard as my small lungs could handle, terror filling me more and more with every step he took in my direction.

"Stop crying, now." He grabbed a chunk of my matted hair and yanked, hard. I continued crying.

"I said STOP CRYING!"

"OWCH DADDY, STOP IT, STOP HITTING ME! STOP! STOP!"

…

"Hey, are you going to sleep all day? Wake up Alex!"

I jolted up off of my lumpy bed immediately and turned to the voice that had awoken me. It was my uncle.

"I'm sorry, I apologize. I'm awake now…"

"Yeah, be sure to stay awake, I'm going to need you later on for some house work. I'll call you down when I'm ready." He slammed the door behind him and I waited until I could no longer hear his footsteps to finally sit back down on the bed.

I glanced at the clock on the wall across from me. 9:30 am. It was a Sunday morning, so it's not unusual that I have to do the housework. My aunt works and my uncle usually goes out and runs errands. I turned away from the clock and let my head fall slightly. That's when the tears slowly began to pour. Not because of my uncle yelling or the housework, but because of the dream I had. Or, I guess a better term for it would be a nightmare.

It's kind of sad, really. I've had that same nightmare for the past five years, and even though I've had it so many times I always end up crying. It isn't like it's just your average nightmare where your brain just thinks up something bad and has you experience it for the night. Mine was real, at one point. I guess that's why I can't stop crying afterwards.

For the whole beginning of my childhood, actually, that nightmare I keep having now was my reality.

My mom was an alcoholic and whenever she would get drunk, which was basically every single night; she would beat me and my younger sister, Grace. Grace had short curly chocolate brown hair, and her eyes which would always have black and blue marks around them from our parents, were a baby blue color. My dad, well, he didn't really drink. He did beat us though. The nights my mom wouldn't come home he would hurt us in her place. Sometimes, they would abuse us together. I guess it was probably how they bonded or something. At least that's what they had said. Our father didn't beat us as frequently as our mother did, because he worked almost every day. But, when he was home and available to, he put in all of his might. Not to mention he was a lot stronger than our mom. I can't help but remember almost every detail, no matter how hard I try to forget. On the days that our parents weren't home, I would hide in the basement with Grace.

I don't live with Grace anymore. After a big incident with our parents, she was sent away from me and we were separated. She went to a foster home. They refused to tell me which one, and I'm still confused as to why that was. Instead of going to a foster home, I was taken in by my Aunt Emma and Uncle Carton. I still have plenty of fairly visible marks from the event that separated me and my sister. They're mainly on my neck, stomach, and legs. There are only a couple scattered on my arms and face.

I'm 13 years old now. I'm still pretty young, but I see myself as an adult. I feel as though I've been through enough to be referred to as one, as well. Not that I want pity for the things I've been through. I hate pity, it makes me feel weak.

"Alex, come on down here! I'm ready for you!" I heard my uncle yell up the flight of stairs that led to my bed room.

"Alright, I'll be down in a second Uncle Carton!"

"Hurry up now, you hear me?!"

I just nod my head in reply, even though I know that he can't see me. I wiped the stray tears from my face and stood up from the bed. My room isn't the biggest, but that's fine with me. It has the essentials, a bed, dresser, and desk. I've been saving up money for a computer for awhile now. I almost have enough!

I threw on a pair of pastel green ankle-length socks and my black converse and ran down the stairs, even though I was still dressed in my pajamas. When I made my way down the set of 28 steps, I found my uncle waiting for me impatiently in the living room.

"Sorry, Uncle."

"That's fine, Alex." He slowly started to get off of the couch he had been resting on. "Be quicker next time. Anyways, here's the list of chores I need finished by 2:00. Your aunt is getting home early today, that's why you need to be quick. I'm going out to run some errands. I expect you'll be finished by the given time, right?"

"Uh, y-yes Uncle. See you then." I said as I bowed.

When he finally made his way out the door, I browsed through the list of chores, then looked at the living room's clock. It's already 10:30?!

"How does he expect me to finish all this by 2:00?" I thought to myself. The list consisted of washing the living room, kitchen, and bathroom floors, drying them, vacuuming their bedroom floor, making their bed, giving the cat a bath, washing and drying the dishes, washing both mine and my aunt and uncle's clothes, folding and returning all of them to the correct drawers, sanitizing the counter tops, feeding the cat, and mowing the lawn.

Today's going to be a long day.