My life though some think perfect really isn't.
My looks though some think beautiful really aren't. My hair is brown,
not shiny, sun kissed like you think but dull, and dirty. My eyes are
green, not bright green like the grass; not dark green like a jade,
but blank and empty. My life has been full of downs, lots of downs.
When I was young I wasn't a momma's girl like most girls are.
No, my mother hated to even look at me. She favored my older sister
and younger brother. Yes I am a middle child, but that shouldn't make
a difference right…wrong. I was a daddy's girl, everything that I did
he loved, and that is what I think made my mother hate me so.
She didn't hate me for my looks, cause I had none. She didn't hate me
for my voice cause I sounded like I out of tune violin. She didn't
hate me for my grace, to tell the truth I am a major klutz. And she
never hated me for my brain, cause I was a ditz. She hated me,
cause my father paid more attention to me than to her and my other
siblings.
My father was hardly ever there, see he had a job that was
far away and my mother never told us what he did. But every 5 months
he came home and stayed for at least one month. During that time we
did everything together, sorted his vast collection of sports cards,
played sports, watch television, or just hang out. We were so close
he was my best and only friend.
I was not a people person, I was very shy to everybody and they all
thought that I was a snob. One day I was having the best day, it was
my birthday I just turned 13. Even if I didn't have the best mother
or never had any friends I knew that there would be something at waiting
for me when I got home from school. Every year when my father wasn't there
to be with me, there always was a gift of some kind, and that is why I was
so happy. When I got home I found no gift, only my mother in tears, my brother
and sister hugging her and trying to comfort her. Once they saw me
looking at them, my mother got up and slapped me hard across the face
'You stupid Bitch it is all your fault that he is gone!' she yelled
with tears in her brown eyes. I touched my red, stinging face
gingerly and looked up at her with unknown tears in my eyes.
'What do you mean mother?' I asked as softly as possible so she
wouldn't get even angrier with me. Her tears disappered and all that
was left on her face was anger.
'You killed your father, because of your Fucken birthday that is
what I mean.'
'No…' I shock my head violently wishing that it wasn't true.
"Because of you he will never come back!" My mother slapped me again, it
was not the slap that hurt, but the look in her eyes when she did it.
There was a deep hate filling my mothers now red, cold eyes.
"Leave." The words cut into me like a knife.
"What?" I could not belive my ears, was my mother, my own flesh and blood
abandoning me.
"Leave, Now!" Her bony fingers crushed my thin arm, her grip growing
stronger with every step. She dragged me out of the house, throwing my
body into the cold steps.
I was happy, it was snowing, and for that moment all of my problems left
me, for a moment. Them I remembered. The pain. The sadness. Not a single
tear fell down my face. I rid myself of that weakness long ago. After my
mother threw me onto the streets, with nothing but the thin clothes on my
back, I left that town. The memories were to much. But I could not go on
I had no money. No home. No food. I wandered the streets of a not-so-good
city. The lack of food, water, and sleep were getting to me. But nothing
like the loss of my father.
I did something then that I would never have dreamed of. I stole food and
clothing from honest people. My heart broke later when I had an peach and
a new jacket. I was about to eat than saw two children younger than myself,
huddled together to keep the heat in and the cold out. Their eyes were staring
at me, begging me to feed them, keep them warm. Love them. Sometimes I wish
I wasn't nice, that I was as heartless as my mother. But I am not. I gave the
children two gifts that they may remember for days or years. Walking away from
the now happy children though I was cold and hungery, a smile played on my
chaped lips.
But nothing could have prepared me for what was going to happen next, I would
have either savered that smile longer, or take my only possesion. And end my life.
My looks though some think beautiful really aren't. My hair is brown,
not shiny, sun kissed like you think but dull, and dirty. My eyes are
green, not bright green like the grass; not dark green like a jade,
but blank and empty. My life has been full of downs, lots of downs.
When I was young I wasn't a momma's girl like most girls are.
No, my mother hated to even look at me. She favored my older sister
and younger brother. Yes I am a middle child, but that shouldn't make
a difference right…wrong. I was a daddy's girl, everything that I did
he loved, and that is what I think made my mother hate me so.
She didn't hate me for my looks, cause I had none. She didn't hate me
for my voice cause I sounded like I out of tune violin. She didn't
hate me for my grace, to tell the truth I am a major klutz. And she
never hated me for my brain, cause I was a ditz. She hated me,
cause my father paid more attention to me than to her and my other
siblings.
My father was hardly ever there, see he had a job that was
far away and my mother never told us what he did. But every 5 months
he came home and stayed for at least one month. During that time we
did everything together, sorted his vast collection of sports cards,
played sports, watch television, or just hang out. We were so close
he was my best and only friend.
I was not a people person, I was very shy to everybody and they all
thought that I was a snob. One day I was having the best day, it was
my birthday I just turned 13. Even if I didn't have the best mother
or never had any friends I knew that there would be something at waiting
for me when I got home from school. Every year when my father wasn't there
to be with me, there always was a gift of some kind, and that is why I was
so happy. When I got home I found no gift, only my mother in tears, my brother
and sister hugging her and trying to comfort her. Once they saw me
looking at them, my mother got up and slapped me hard across the face
'You stupid Bitch it is all your fault that he is gone!' she yelled
with tears in her brown eyes. I touched my red, stinging face
gingerly and looked up at her with unknown tears in my eyes.
'What do you mean mother?' I asked as softly as possible so she
wouldn't get even angrier with me. Her tears disappered and all that
was left on her face was anger.
'You killed your father, because of your Fucken birthday that is
what I mean.'
'No…' I shock my head violently wishing that it wasn't true.
"Because of you he will never come back!" My mother slapped me again, it
was not the slap that hurt, but the look in her eyes when she did it.
There was a deep hate filling my mothers now red, cold eyes.
"Leave." The words cut into me like a knife.
"What?" I could not belive my ears, was my mother, my own flesh and blood
abandoning me.
"Leave, Now!" Her bony fingers crushed my thin arm, her grip growing
stronger with every step. She dragged me out of the house, throwing my
body into the cold steps.
I was happy, it was snowing, and for that moment all of my problems left
me, for a moment. Them I remembered. The pain. The sadness. Not a single
tear fell down my face. I rid myself of that weakness long ago. After my
mother threw me onto the streets, with nothing but the thin clothes on my
back, I left that town. The memories were to much. But I could not go on
I had no money. No home. No food. I wandered the streets of a not-so-good
city. The lack of food, water, and sleep were getting to me. But nothing
like the loss of my father.
I did something then that I would never have dreamed of. I stole food and
clothing from honest people. My heart broke later when I had an peach and
a new jacket. I was about to eat than saw two children younger than myself,
huddled together to keep the heat in and the cold out. Their eyes were staring
at me, begging me to feed them, keep them warm. Love them. Sometimes I wish
I wasn't nice, that I was as heartless as my mother. But I am not. I gave the
children two gifts that they may remember for days or years. Walking away from
the now happy children though I was cold and hungery, a smile played on my
chaped lips.
But nothing could have prepared me for what was going to happen next, I would
have either savered that smile longer, or take my only possesion. And end my life.