"Scarlett, tell me about your childhood, what are your parents like?"
"Well my Mom left, and my father was an abusive mess, so what would you like me to say?"
stopping to think for a moment, I decided to be less sarcastic, and just be honest and tell the truth. With this decision my features softened and a small smile graced my lips. I dropped my head, and shuffled in my chair "my parents didn't really raise me, I owe any good childhood memories to my grandmother, if she hadn't been there, I don't know if I'd have made it. Any outings we went on as a family she would force my parents to take me," I paused.
"We never had much money growing up, so I understood its value. Fortunately, when my grandparents died they left us a house; so we never had to worry about losing it. I understood why I couldn't always have new things or even nice things and why I couldn't go to places like the other kids in my grade did. My dad was a mechanic and my Mom a waitress so money was always pretty tight. When I was nine or ten my dad had an argument with his boss, and decided not to go in the next day, I don't know what it was about but it must have been bad because dad never went back, not even to pick up the stuff he left there, not even his 'world's best dad' mug that me and gran had chosen for him last Christmas. He and Mom argued that night; and every night afterwards if I'm honest. They argued so much that dad turned to the bottle, trying to find the answers to his problems at the bottom I think, but he probably never found them.
After about a year of Mom having to work extra shifts and get more jobs so that we could live dad just snapped. I don't know why or what made him do it but I remember the night vividly. I was sat at the kitchen table doing my homework like I did every night, when my dad came in and hit me in the head, so hard that I fell off my chair. I still remember the pain that I felt, radiating in my head as I hit the floor. He didn't stop there though he screamed at me to get up and look him in the eye as he spoke to me. So I stood up, I didn't understand what was happening, or why my father was shouting, so I followed every instruction he gave me, hit after hit, he made me get up, and look him in the eyes. He was slurring his words, and the smell of whiskey, and stale cigarettes filled my nostrils as I stood silently crying. That didn't stop him though, he carried on shouting at me, but I was so stunned I couldn't follow what he was saying, until he hit me again this time across my face "are you even listening?" he shouted "You better stop crying before I give you something to cry about you little shit" he raised his hand to hit me again, causing me to whimper and start wiping away my tears, he relaxed his hand "you need to get a job and start pulling your weight around here" he screamed. but I was only nine, no one would accept me for a job, I couldn't earn any money for him, in my head, I just wasn't good enough, and I was sure he would kick me out soon enough.
So that was the first time that my dad ever hit me, but it wouldn't be the last, not even close. I got hit regularly, often leaving bruises, and marks, but always in places that clothes could cover, or where makeup could mask it."
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yeah, so I threw you in at the deep and there, but that's not the worst thing to happen in the book. you may have guessed its already written, but i am pen to changes if you have any ideas, feel free to contact me. :)
also I'm going to upload the first three chapters, because it upsets me when there is only one, and you start reading it, so err, have fun!
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- G xoxo
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Memoirs Of a survivor
Action"You're an animal, you're a dog, you will always be a dog, and there's nothing you can do to change that" "You will do as you're told" "Come here and clean this up" All comments that had been shouted at Scarlett Fletcher. Her school life is bad, a...
