May 2008
I rocked back and forth on the bed, my hands clamped tight on my ears. No matter how hard I tried, however, I couldn't block out my parents shouts from the kitchen downstairs. I focused my attention on the wall in front of me, inspecting it, examing it.
My gaze found all the blemishes and cracks and I tried to turn them into pictures; into stories. I joined it all together in my head. I saw trees and clouds and a knight clad in armor and-
A scream cut off my train of thought, shattering the calm I was so desperately trying to pull over myself. Another scream. It was my mum. A smack followed the scream.
"SHUT UP YOU DIRTY WHORE!"
Smack.
"YOU'RE WORTHLESS!"
Smack.
"STUPID BITCH!"
Smack. Smack. Smack.
It was that moment that 8 year old Shane Drake decided he needed to do something. After all, there isn't a little boy alive who wouldn't tear the world apart for his mommy.
