Chapter 1: The Black Beast Who Hides In The Woods

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Copyright "Greeny" October 2016
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"Get out of my house! You're just an ungrateful little brat! You're a no good waste of space just like your father!"

As I slammed my front door shut, the sound of glass bottles being thrown echoed in the cool air. I had just gotten home from my last day before fall break at Hilton Manning High School, and the previous unfortunate events occurred because my alcoholic mother got into her hidden liquor stash.

I plugged in my other earbud as Halsey raged into the opposite ear. The sound was on full blast before I began my 'not so daily' run through the woods. I didn't believe in dieting. The whole thing seemed like a ploy which made people slowly starve until they couldn't bear it anymore. I believed in exercising it was the thing that made the anger go away, but just not running, but now I felt like that's all I should do. Run, run and never go back to that wretched house with that evil woman I called my mom.

She didn't always be that way. Evil, I mean. She was the kind of woman who every girl looked up to. She was kind and soft. Her long dark hair resembled mine until she cut it to her shoulders after my father died. He and I were never close, so his death didn't impact me as much as it did my mother 8 years ago.

At times, I thought he wasn't my real father because we looked nor acted alike in any way except for the fact that we both loved the outdoors. I spent most of my time in the woods whether that be doing homework or going for a walk and listening to the birds sing. It was serene, almost like a dream, that is until I stepped back into the real world which meant going back to high school.

High school, hell, same thing. Little to no difference, enough said. Right now, high school was my life. No boys, no teen drama, and certainly no room for friends. Taking care of my drunken mother was a routine. It had become a part of my everyday life.

Normally, I woke up to find her passed out on the couch or the floor with beer bottles everywhere. Then, I would carry her to her room and set orange juice and Advil pills next to her bed on the nightstand. Next, I made myself a piece of toast or some worthless breakfast while I found my usual pair of leggings along with a sweatshirt as I tried to block out the sound of my subconscious, which yelled at me to run away and be free from her.

Her problems followed her around everywhere, and were forever bonded to her by a pair of handcuffs along with a straight jacket. I didn't get to do the things that normal teenagers normally would like going to football games or worrying about midterms and what colleges I would be able to get in to. My brain couldn't wrap around the thought of going to college. She was my life and my plan was to quit school when I turned eighteen this summer. I got stuck in an endless cycle that had started when I was nine years old.

My mother was like a small child that clung to my pants-leg and pulled me down through an endless pit of suffering and depression, which in the end, was a pool of quicksand that swallowed us without a second thought. It was empty within itself, with no regrets to waiver its decision of taking a part the world's problems and ending them where they stood. This was my life, and this is what it always had been.

The person that would ultimately ruin me was the same person that I couldn't seem to leave behind. I had done everything that I had possibly could, which included sending her away to rehab which meant that I had to fend for myself while she was away getting doped up with a medicine that never guaranteed the success of her recovery. My insurance bill had reached all new heights because of the several times that I dialed 911 to call an ambulance after I had returned from school.

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