I woke up to some extremely loud screaming. I forced myself out of bed and creaked open the door quietly.
What I saw was getting on my nerves.
I saw this too many times.
I saw my father with that stupid cursed liquor bottle. He was beating on my mother while she was crying. Don't hate me for not screaming at him, or fighting back. The last time I tried to do that, to save my mother, he carried me to the garage, and punched me. Well,
I mean yesterday because today I got a big black bruise that formed on my eye.
I have a plan, that would probably end all of this. Everything.
I sat down on my soft bed and took a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote the number "911 December 26," on the paper, and you know exactly what that meant.
My father is going to go bye-bye.
YOU ARE READING
No cure. Or is there?
Kurgu OlmayanMy name is Cassandra. This is me. My story. What made me today. This is my background. What took me here. It can't be cured, vanished. The memories I mean. But, it can be made peace with. How? Keep reading.
