Differences

Chapter 1

Mother slapped me on my cheek before slapping the other one. She managed to dig her werewolf like fingernails into my skin for a brief second, while my mind dealt with the shock/pain.

"NO, you're not going to that fucking school where snobs flock all round, mixed with bitchy sluts and horny teenage boys." I counted every time she spat in my face.

"Don't you care about your poor sick-"I knew how long she would talk about herself so I interrupted

"You're not sick mother, you only stubbed your toe" another slap.

"Don't fucking interrupt me you fucking cow, I know what's best for you because I care about how you grow up. I don't want you becoming even more rude and spiteful than you already are you little shit."

"Mother am I allowed to speak," the one weakness my mum uses on times like this is my long hair which she yanks up, and every time I swear I hear a rip. I squeal for her to stop and hold my hair to try decrease the stinging feeling on my roots. She shoves me down onto our rotting floor which almost immeadiately cracks giving me splinters.

"Don't cry you damn child." She storms away kicking boxes out her way.

Because of all the unpacking and getting use to this mouldy house has triggered mothers anger to rise, we can't afford therapy anymore so we have been moving from house to house because our neighbours became too scared of mother and didn't want to get involved with all the bruises they see on me daily. On the third house, mother was much known of her uncontrollable temper tantrums and I believe they also knew I was abused. The postman stopped delivering our mail because the last time he delivered a bill mum punched him in the throat.

Though mother did get some happiness when the postman was fired because he wasn't delivering the rest of our bills which were piling up, though the very same day was the worst night as mother realised she still had to pay for the rest of the forgotten money.

Mother had always been very angry or grumpy, but when my father was kidnapped and never seen again it made it so much worse. The only way for me to get a good night sleep is too keep offering her wine at night so she would soon pass out. Though other times she would start singing really loudly, and because everyone feared her no one came to tell her to stop.

Anyway, it was 07:43am and the bus was here to pick me up. Though mother didn't want me to go as she has separation anxiety like a dog has when their owner leaves for work.
I started walking to the door only to find my back pack had been moved, this had to be the only explanation as I put it there before mother started slapping me.

I used to feel like it was a routine that a loving mother would do on a school day for her child but the opposite. The day would start off as,
Mother shakes me hard smelling of alcohol complaining about her head ache. Once I have eaten breakfast I clean my bowl while mother complains about the littlest things, her most favourite subject is me.I put on my shoes and grab my back pack, mother starts screaming and normally slaps me or depending on her hang over she sometimes beats me.

Then I get on the bus and say to the people who ask me why I look so red or bruised is because I tripped on a rock which they are all dumb enough to believe.

"Mother where is my bag?"

(No answer)

"Mother?"

(Still no answer)

Found it, the bag dropped down from the one hook that held all our coat along with the hook. I opened the door and casually walked to the bus but inside felt as terrified as a mouse would be when swallowed by a snake, mother hadn't ran after me. The doors opened, with a quick glance from the driver who starred at my missing arm but I caught his gaze which normally makes them turn embarrassed from staring at a disabled person. I felt the feeling of being proud that mother didn't make a scene, maybe she was trying to stay at one house until she gets bored and finds a person to beat up or frame for rape.

Once I'm in the corridor in the bus a two year old is pointing at me while her mother is trying to push his arm down but it keeps boing up. There are no spare spaces except for one, but I have to sit next a lady who has hair so greasy she must use mayonnaise for shampoo. And her make up makes her look like a panda with bloody lips. She starts to look me up and down showing her teeth clenched and her eye brows scrunched together like she has just seen a disgusting picture maybe this is what she looks like when she stands in front of the mirror... hag.

My thoughts of all the words I could call the hag are interrupted because outside the bus window is mother. Staring at me with her arms crossed, her right eye is swollen and her nose is bleeding. But her lips are formed in to the same shape as that creepy monkey toy that bashes the cymbals. Then the bus moves and her image still painted on the window in my mind...

There was a lot of traffic because of a wedding, correction, drunk wedding but I managed to get the angry voices words of my head as a man shouted at the bride wanting to dance with her. I managed all this wkth the power of Radio head. The one band that isn't that famous but why do they need to be because half the world are full of teenage girls wanting to marry pretty boys, or men rapping about buts.

Radio head can make you cry when you need to and gives you relief at the end, their lyrics are artistic and thoughtful, not twelve business people sitting at a desk thinking of lyrics that will make girls accuse themselves to be fat. To anyone I show Radio head too seem to not be into it as much as others do, and all I'm thinking is you been plagued by the Satan music giving you thoughts of hate or disgust.

I rant a lot to myself.

I'm not expecting to get any friends at this new school, at lunch I will get a pack lunch go to a secluded area then read my book while listening to Radio head. In class I will always ask if I could work alone with no partner, in P.E. I will creep the coaches out by my disability so they let me be and read my book. If anyone talks to me I will ignore and get my phone out and put my head phones in. If any teachers want to see me I will speak when only spoken too and give short and simple answers like a person would do on trial.

The day is too bright but luckily there are enough clouds to block the sun temporally. I give one glance at the school all I see is a brick wall and two wooden double doors, I hope this is the way.