How easy would it be for me to slit my throat or hang myself I think to myself, Over dossing didn't kill me either. As I lay in my bed I stare at the wall, with its pale paint, peeling off and showing the ugly colors underneath, as if it wasn't ugly before that. "Anny!" I hear my father calling me, I jump out of bed and hurry down the stairs careful not to step on the rotting wood, which not even mice dare to run on. I run into the living room where my father sits on the sofa watching T.V. " Anny you son of a bitch, go get me another beer!", he yells at me. I run to the kitchen and grab one, and return with it. "This bottle isn't open," he yells as he holds it up, " you stupid hoebag, show respect!!!". Bash! Glass flys everywhere. "Now clean it up!"he orders, as I rush to the kitchen to get the broom, i hold my head ,but he tells me to come back.What for? Well to clean it with my hands. I pick every last tiny piece of glass, then he tells me to come to him. As I go towards him, I can smell the stench of beer and hate off him, he clenches my hands and squeezes them tightly. I wince in pain as I feel the warm red liquid drip down my hands. He laughs ," Now go get me some more beers," he says handing me some money," Now I now your a slut so don't go wasting it on sex!" I nodd my head and walk out the door. I'm not coming back I think to myself as I shut the door and say goodbye forever, I'm never coming back.
