Sunshine Through The Storms

Armageddon.

I am confused about my feelings at the moment. Everything is swirling inside my head like a blender and I want to find a way to pull the plug. I can use similies for my problems all day if I wanted to and it might even entertain you, my captive reader, but that's another book for another lifetime.

My parents aren't together, but they make one good team. My dad, is really easy to read and tell when he's lying or not telling ne something. My mother, on the other hand, is a mystery that I cannot fathom, my teachers wouldn't be able to fathom, maybe not even a professional would. She seems unreadable. When I think she's doing one thing, sooner or later I come to find out she is doing the exact opposite.

My step dad is very strange compared to my own dad.

I have never seen my step dad hurt my mother, but I sure know that his own daughter had to watch the both of them hurt eachother in ways unfathomable. She probably watched as her own father wrapped his large, calloused hands around her mother's light colored, tattoo- framed neck, him gripping her neck as if they were handle bars on a bicycle, holding on with all he had. Her mother, her face turning red while hot tears fell down her face, struggling to get the words help out of her strangled throat.

She herself probably would have a worried look on her small, circle shaped face while confused tears would be held at bay, lining the rims of her round, tired, brown eyes. She would most likely tug at the light brown locks of hair that are wild like the vines of a merlot grape. The sadder part is that she is only a mere toddler, yet she knows exactly what her own up-close-and-personal Armageddon is and why it's happening.

Lastly, she would have to watch the saddest part: her father realizing who he was hurting physically, and who he was hurting mentally. He then would completely loosen his grip on her purple - faced mother and meet her on the floor, cradling her head and sobbing like he was a monster who was realizing what he had done to a beautiful flower, his mate. What he had done to his own, delicate daughter's mind.

A note to my younger sister's parents; she is able to fathom your mistakes quite well for a two year old. You taught her how to hide things from one another. So please, don't be mad at her when those words are spilt from her mouth by accident. Don't get mad when she is simply, copying you. Don't say she is in her "terrible twos" because that doesnt exist. The way you raised her, plus her knowledge of words, equals a toddler that knows more about you than you do, simply determining how the child turns out. Please, I beg of you, don't call her knowledge of words a "phase".

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this was about my baby sister i hope you liked it bc i had writers block this week

oh & btw i put little songs above each story as like a theme thing for the story or something like that so if you are looking for a decent song to listen to you can check them out B))) luv u