A Life Is Anything That Dies When You Stamp On It; This Is My Life

Part 1 - Nobody i

Her head was tipped back, her mouth in a huge smile. She is called Della Inglewood. And that photo is the last time Della laughed like that. Crumpled corners from years of fiddling, faded colours, and stains where wretched sobs fell on it.
This is Della Inglewood, and her story...

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The camera clicked, and a moment in Della's life was stored forever,  for everyone to see. Her mum smiled and said, "My little Darling Della!" However, she was soon to be disappointed, as Della had spotted her Uncle Henry eating a vanilla waffle cone.
        "Mum, I want an ice cream," Della whined, "Uncle Henry has one. It's not fair!" She stamped her foot and tossed her gleaming, white-blonde hair. This trick always worked with her mum, Rachaelle. Not with dad. You had to make him feel that he had done something wrong. She had it all worked out.
        Eyes raised, Della glanced at the back door, where her mum was approaching her from, a dripping, raspberry ripple ice cream in ha... What was happening? Mum looked angry, and didn't have an ice cream!
        "I've had enough of you twisting everyone round your little finger, Della. Uncle Henry should have known better, but the point is, I'm in charge, not you!" Mum had been stomping closer all the time, and was now just a metre away from Della. Henry had a trace of guilt on his red face.
        And suddenly the sun went in. Shadows and clouds gathered behind Della's dark grey eyes, her fist curling into a ball at her side. It was as if the birds had sensed that something was going on. Everything was silent, save for a couple of ravens circling in the dark sky above.
        Uncle Henry cleared his throat and said tentatively, "Della? I think we should go ins--" But he got no further, for the little girl had turned upon him, and screamed, "Shut up! Don't tell me what to do!" Her voice crescendoed in volume with every word, and her pretty face twisted in anger.
        Della's mum had risen up to her full height, which would have looked huge to the little girl, if the anger hadn't been fuelling her on. Faster than you would have thought possible, Della was upon her mum, biting, scratching, tearing, screaming, punching and kicking. Uncle Henry came to his senses, and lumbered over. "Hello, hello, hello. What's going on 'ere?" He intoned, pulling Della away from Rachaelle and setting them both down on the grass. Rachaelle was breathing heavily, and she had cuts and bite marks all over her. They both turned to Della, ready to face a barrage of little fists. But they got none. Della was curled in a ball on the grass, turned away from the adults, and her shoulders were heaving. They could hear her sobbing to herself.
        When Rachaelle picked her up, and asked her why she did it, she only got a tiny, snuffly answer.
        "I don't know."