(A/N) Image above is of Fara.
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As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window besides my bed, my eyes fluttered open. I take a deep breath and slowly sit up.
I always stay up late reading, but I also wake up early to start making breakfast and to sneak in some time to myself, and possibly go outside.
I crawl towards my bathroom, not having the energy to get up and walk. I turn on the faucet in the sink and dip my head in to get a drink. After that I pull my hair out of its pony tail and quickly throw it into a tight braid to keep it out of my face. It was easier to clean and cook that way. It was also safer. I once left my hair down while making dinner and a piece of my hair fell into the food. It was a really small piece but when my daddy found it he freaked out. I got a really bad beating that night.
Next I change into a pair of black leggings, a black long sleeved sweatshirt and some black socks. In the stories most little girls wore a lot of bright colors, mainly pink, but I learned that black clothes hides blood the best. Any time my parents saw that I was in pain or that I was bleeding the got excited and beat my harder. Just like when I would cry out.
But in the stories the really brave and strong girls wore black. I wasn't brave or strong but I wanted to be. I once read a story where there was a 17 year old girl that always wore black and she was moving to a new town and at the new school kids tried to bully her but she wouldn't let it happen. She also stood up for all the other kids that got bullied. Once she even punched this guy in the mouth because he was saying really mean things about another girl. She was brave and able to stand up to her bullies. Just like I wanted to.
I know that the parents were normally the role model but I didn't want to be like my mommy and daddy. So it was those fictional characters that acted as my role model. Although they were fictional, I think. Why would people write stories with happy endings and nice families when the real world didn't have any of that?
I shake my head clearing my thoughts. I could think about that later but right now I needed to get downstairs and make Daddy's breakfast. Mommy always slept in and when she did get up she would always complain about something called a hangover and then make me get her one of the glass bottles from the fridge. We always had plenty because that's pretty much all my mommy and daddy drank.
I silently climbed down the stairs, almost falling at each step because they were so big. I decided to make daddy's breakfast first. Once I reach the kitchen I quickly turn on the stove top to make my daddy's French toast.
I'd just finished serving it up on a plate when I heard a small yip coming from the yard outside. My eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. I placed the spatula down and then scurried over to the window in the living room to see what had made that sound.
Oh my, I thought. It was a puppy that had a bad limp to it. Every time he stepped on his left front paw I saw him flinch. As quickly as I could I went upstairs and grabbed my first aid kit. I also grabbed my doctor book just in case.
As soon as I got downstairs I rushed outside towards the little fur ball. Not wanting to scare him I slowed down and creeped towards him with my hand out. He just sat there looking at me. When I got close enough to touch him a sat down and opened up my box. I could see that he had a nasty gash on his leg that had dried blood matted into the fur and it continued to bleed a little. I grabbed some alcohol wipes and wiped the blood all away. I saw him flinch at the sting from the alcohol and immediately felt bad.
