Things I Need To Write

"You're chasing dreams," he said dismissively, still refusing to look at my bloodied face from behind his paper, refusing to acknowledge that I wasn't merely saying it, I really meant it.

"Do you even know how to be proud of me, Papa?" I asked angrily, tears of hurt, of shame, of hatred burning my eyes, clogging my throat.

"There's nothing to be proud of, Charloutte," he said, lowering the paper the slightest bit to glare at me through his squinty eyes.

That name. That name he knew, he knew I hated, because he always used it when he beat me. That name he knew I was ashamed of, that I never told anyone new, that not even Mommy called me.

That was all I could take. Before he could see the agony in my eyes, I ran to my room and slammed the door. Throwing myself on the bed, I grabbed a pillow and wept into it, hoping my wails would be too muffled by the pillow for my "father" to hear over the blaring TV, and his own hatred.

"One day," I whispered as my tears had mainly bled from me. "One day," I repeated, more firmly, anger boiling in my veins, "I'll be free of this place. He won't hurt me any more."

But I'd been saying that  since Mommy left. Saying I'd get out of here as soon as I got the money, or even the slimmest chance. That if I could get away from that abusive bastard, I would. But here  I still am, still taking care of him, still getting shit for it. Still abused. Still uncared for, still hitch hiking on an empty road, as her mother would say.

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"Why does everything have to be a fight with you?" he yelled at her, anger making his face red and his eyes pop out. "I hate you!"

He's lying, she though, her breath caught in her throat. He must be. He must be! "Please, not now, not in front of all these--"

"No!" he interrupted. "I can never do anything right in your eyes, can I? God, loving you is the hardest thing I'll EVER have to do!" (Failure drop off of train of thought. xP)

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(The Monsters Inside Me)

Anger was the lone emotion running through my veins when I lifted the knife. I swear. I didn't mean any harm to come to him, really. He just made me so mad. Made me want to kill him. I didn't know I had doe it until I was covered in blood.

I had to cover it up. I sliced my arms and upper body up, threw some precious vases on the ground, ripped apart the kitchen and the three bedrooms of the house. I took some of the valuables, locked them in a briefcase of his, and buried it out in the woods behind the house. I cut myself until tears came down my face, cut up my clothing, and made sure I looked beaten. The police will never find out, I thought.

But they did.

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(Tower 21)
[Memory Dream]
{Reminder: Make a good guy characters named Ezzie and Affia.}

"Please, just make sure they stay safe. That's all I ask. Keep running, and never look back for me. Always make sure--"

"That we're fed, sheltered, but never known. I know, Mother,"  Zheffa said irritably beside Seira. On her other side, her eldest sister, at eight, gently shook the squirming little brother in her arms. Her oldest brother, Zheffa, at fifteen, held on to Seira with a vise-like grip, knowing that if he didn't, she'd wander off. He held a similar grip to his second youngest brother, Renault, who was a mere year older than the two-year-old Seira.

"Momma!" Seira wailed, noticing that with every word to Zheffa, she took a step back into the darkness with the meager basket of food she held, the over sized and ratty cloak clutched tight about her, covering her in darkness. "Momma, no go! No go!" she wept into her brother's side, who pushed her away. She cried noisily, and her eldest sister, Anlet, boxed her ear.

"Shut up," she hissed, jumping on the balls of her feet to placate the baby in her arms. Her triplet sister, Redula, and her triplet brother, Pon, held on to Zheffa's loose tunic-shirt, sucking their thumbs like they were Seira's age. They cried, too, but silently. Likely, the thumbs in their mouths were there to bite, to stop themselves from being loud and drawing attention to the slimy, grimy, musty, moldy alley way they all crowded in.

"I love you all," were the last words Seira heard from her mother, before Zheffa, Pon, Redula, Anlet, Renault, she, and her unnamed baby brother turned and fled into the night, just two months before they were found and put before the king, awaiting an unfair trial the set her in this hell hole.

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The night after the party, I had a killer head ache.

(dahdahdahdah, time skip because I need to rush)

Abruptly, in the middle of our argument, someone pounded on the door.

"Open up!" a deep, booming voice yelled through the thin wood of the beaten door. "This is the Plano Police Department! Johnny Jamison, open up!"

My father look at me angrily, a red vein bulging on his forehead. He composed himself quickly, and sped over to the door, a maximum of ten feet away. Opening the door, he said, "Hello, officers. What is it Jay's done?"

And that was how me, just a fourteen-year old girl, was accused of murder.