Blue-eyed tears

Chapter 3

Me and Louisa read some of our books; Mum's books. We've read them so many times we both can remember whole pages by heart. And no matter how many times we read them we always loved and cherished them. We were always very cautious with the books, it was one of the very few things we had. He had torn, ripped and crumpled most of the photos of Mum, the only photos we had of Mum was when, Mum, me and Louisa were on the sofa, I still remember her touch, her lavender smell, it was always so comforting.

Another one of the few photos we had of mum were when we were all at the seaside Mum, Dad, Louisa and me. I can still remember the hot sun burning my skin, the cold ice cream touching my lips, Mum's silky, red hair ticking me. I loved life before well... y'know.

Now life is terrible. Not exactly, Louisa is the only good thing in my life, when I was at school people were always nagging about their brothers or sisters but Louisa is the only good thing in my life now. Dad's just a drunken old ****** ******!! A lot of the time he calls us that, hitting us, cussing.

I always hate when he's drunk. I have several scars from those HORRIBLE nights. I still shiver at the thoughts. I touch the scar on my knee, I remember that night oh so vividly, Dad was drunk yet again, he got a knife because I was bothering him so much.

And he almost killed me! It all happened in a blur. His hand was clutching the knife and he was chasing me. I just managed to scrape by, the knife only scarring the back of my left leg. But it's all just nightmares now. Just nightmares. That's what I tell Louisa when she has a nightmare. And then I always cuddle up with her in her thin sleeping bag, both of us keeping each other warm.

The tears we cry taste salty on our lips, and all these questions flood into our minds, why is he our dad? Why was I born into this family? Why is my life so terrible?......that's life for us.

... it is said that every child deserves a parent and yet not every parent deserves a child- that is extremely true for me. Dad doesn't deserve us, he just treats us like s*it.

Want to know how it feels? Well first, lock yourself up in a room with your little brother or sister (if you have one) and pretend no-one likes you, cares about you and you're worthless. After, get food secretly, that no-one has bought specially for you, preferably leftovers. Then, get a drunken old bloke and get him to shout at you and hit you several times, so much that blood drips out. That's how it feels for us, scary huh?

Now you're wondering how did I get this? Well, Mum used to keep diaries and she would always keep a few spare in-case she finished one and this is one of the few that are left (Mum also left LOTS of pens and pencils because she wrote so much; Mum was brilliant at writing, she could write a whole book in a month). Here's one of her diary entries:

'I'm in hospital at the moment, because I'm having a baby! A baby girl! I'm going to call her Hanna, no.. Hettie, yes Hettie! That's a beautiful name!'

You can probably guess what that was about.

I'm crying right now. Remembering Mum and how much I loved her. I pray and say: "Mum, please let something good happen to us, please let us get out of here, please, please..."