As I stepped through the front door of my boring home, I threw my school bag to the side of the hall along with my school blazer. The sound of the bag hitting the marble floor frightens me, but not enough for me to give a second look at the bag to check if anything is broken inside. As I pull myself the long distance towards the staircase at the end of the hall, my mothers secratary Linda shouts 'Master Rettle, please take your school belongings to your room with you, your mother will be most angry to see your school equipment simply dumped to the side of the hall' in her posh yet calm voice. 'Ok' I sighed exhausted from a long day at school, and went back to retrieve my things. Linda justs sit her behind her large desk, positioned in the centre of the hallway to the left side. As I traveld back to get my things, I thought to myself 'My mother wouldn't even notice my school bag and blazer dumped in the hall, not with a glass of wine in her hand anyway, which was more than often'. But I still picked up my blazer and bag, and staggerd to my room with a hope that my mother wouldn't be home until late.
Six hours at later at around 10:00pm, I heard my giant front door slam all the way from my room. I jumped straight out of bed, ran down the corridore, and stood at the top of my giant staircase to see from a distance my mother passed out on the floor, with her vomit surrounding her. I slowly walked to my mothers aid, knowing that no real damage could be done. This was the third time this week she had come home drunk, possibly from another party or "get together" with her so called "friends". I know there not her real friends. They only talk to her because of her money and fame. My mother is a succesfull business woman (so i've heard). She owns an international cigagrette company called "Twadles". She and her own company do nothing but pollute our air and kill our people. I prefer to call them "Team Twat". As I eventually pass Linda's empty desk and approach my motionless mother, I let out a loud sigh of dissapointment, hoping that my mother can hear. I bend down to pick her up like I normaly do, when suddenly I am slapped in the face by mothers vomit covered hands. I fall back to the floor behind me, when she stands up with some difficulty and shouts at the top of her voice 'Your just like your father Dion, a no good stealing bastard!'. She then lashes out at me, pinning my arms down the floor with such strength, I feel the blood circulation in my arms stop. She then spits in my face and slaps me a couple more times, before digging four deep cuts into my left cheek with the large false nails on her right hand. I let out a giant scream which scares her of me and forces her to run with great difficulty to her room. I lean up to see her as she falls up the stairs at least four times before reaches the top. She runs to her room and slams the door shut. I then manage to stand up and wipe the spit and vomit from my face.
Why did my mother hate me so much? Why? Everyday she treats me like an enemy, sometimes I think worse! I hate my life at home! I hate my mother! Things weren't the same since my father left five years ago. I was only nine, but I remember him so much. He was tall, with a great smile on his face. He had brown hair, like mine. Blue eyes, like mine. And a stubble, not mine. He was a great man, a rolemodle to me; something that I had always wanted. Why my father and mother split up is still a mystery My father and Jenna were the only things in my life that made me smile. Oh and also Rex. Jenny was best friend and Rex was my Golden Retriever. Jenny was my age and lived on the other side of town. She was so nice. So caring. We always sat on the side of my swimming pool in the back garden, soaking our feet while talking about what happend at school. Jenny is also the only person I ever talk about my home life with. There is nobody else. Nobody but Jenny.