My blood

It all started when my mother left us. Left us for a 20 year old blond bastard. They met at the gym and it all escalated from there. All the 'working late' and 'out of town work conferences' all bullshit.....

When my father found out, he couldn't bear it. Neither of us could. He started drinking, spending all his spare time at the pub. I was left home, alone every night...... Until it got too much.

I was left alone one night, and it was all too easy. As soon as he was gone I got the knife. I took it up to my room. I just sat there...... Blankly staring at this cold,hard instrument, with the glaring reflection of myself watching me.

I took a deep breathe as I let the blade slide over my wrist. I inhaled sharply as the sharp blade cut the skin. It shouldn't have,but it felt good, so soo good. So liberating ....... I covered my tracks, even though there was no need. I was invisible to everyone anyway.

I was "the little ghost girl". And so, I did it again. And again. Until, one day I took it too far. I cut too deep and as soon as I did it I knew. Instead of the small trickle of blood, it gushed out. I got light headed and panicked, I called my best friend. The next thing I knew I fell into the deep, bone chilling darkness.

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I woke up in a hospital bed two weeks later. It was a small sterile room and I was all alone.

"hello?" I groggily called out. My father walked in the door. He wouldn't look me in the eyes at first but when he did, I saw his eyes full of disgust and horror of his freaky daughter.

I wanted to reach out to him , to apologise and have life back as normal. Instead, I remained speechless.

"goodbye lucy." he muttered and left the room. I was dead to him. Two years on and I've been through countless foster homes, all very nice people, but no one could deal with 'the freak'.

So here I am, off to another foster home. But this time, I'm leaving my beautiful homeland, ireland and I'm off to homes chappel, england.

Even though since my Mother left, a part of me and I was numb, I was full of grief leaving Ireland. It was strangely beautiful, in a weird, alternative way which I loved. So here I am, on my way to foster home number 5 and there is nothing I could do.........