CHAPTER ONE~
6:30 A.M.
Stupid, pathetic, worthless! The words slash at me with every swipe she takes. I hold in the tears, it'll only make her more powerful. "We never should have kept you!" she screeches. Another smack comes at me, this time her hand is open. I feel hot liquid ooze down my cheek. She then throws a hard punch into my stomach, making me crumble like a cookie. She sneers as she towers over me, "You dumb little bitch. I've given you everything! I carried you nine months. I cooked and slaved for you." She kicks my chest and I cough up some blood. Mom seems to be satisfied and she walks into the kitchen. I groan and stand up, my legs wobble but I make it up the stairs before she brings out the knives.
My room is small and really, really plain. How plain, you may ask? Well, all I have is a small bathtub, a futon, and a small chest of drawers. Inside the drawers are my undergarments, pajamas, First-Aid kit, day clothes, and a small backpack. I look up on the wall, where my full-length mirror sits. Dad got for my birthday, when he wasn't a Crack head. I walk over to it and stare at my reflection. Long, stringy reddish-brown hair; baggy, ripped clothing that's way too big for me; bruised and scarred up legs and arms; and finally my eyes, big and weird. My left eye is a dark Silver color; my right is a bright Golden-y Yellow. I don't look anything like my parents. My Mom has Blonde hair and Blue eyes, but Dad has dark Brown eyes and Black hair.
I turn on the water in my tub. One day I'm goin' to get outta here, I think to myself. I peel off my clothes and toss them in a corner. I slip into the tub; the blood from my fresh wounds turns the water a light red. Why can't I ever stand up to her?! I scream inwardly.
You could always do it, you know. A small voice in the back of my head whispers. Just a small thrust to the head and it would be all over. I shake my head firmly, "I'm not going to kill my Mom." I hiss out loud. I push the thought out of my head with a sigh. I pull my left arm out of the water and focus on it. Suddenly a brilliant flash of color appears and my arm, from the elbow up, is a hammer. I pull out my other arm and it turns into an axe. I sniff as they turn back into my regular, old hands. Yep that's right people; I'm a Heavy Metal Hammer-Axe. A Weapon. Go on, laugh all you want.
I dry myself off and begin to pour peroxide on my cuts. I hiss in pain and then I bite my tongue. It's going to be even worse tomorrow, when Dad comes home.