Running

It was early, around three. I left the house. I stopped and looked around. I took a deep breath, I could taste the damp air on my tongue, it made me shudder. I took one look back at the old hell hole I used to call home and set of. I remember the events that led up to now.

The day before I woke up, like any other 14 year old boy. But my house is not like any other 14 year old boy's when you take one step the whole house creeks and groans as if it is going to puke, take another and the floorboard snaps you can here it snap. It's a miracle it doesn't fall down, with it's rotting, damp walls and snapping and cracking floorboards. I went down my families wine stained and puke sodden rug without thought. I strolled into the kitchen and opened the cupboard quickly, too quickly. The hinges were rusted and weak so they snapped and I was left feeling a mix of guilt and happiness.

"good the house is falling apart now we can get a new one, which won't snap every time you step, jump or open doors,' I thought to myself putting in the image of a crisp and fresh new house that would be far more suitable for a 14 year old boy.

My parents weren't up yet they were probably both still upstairs snoring in a pool of their own sick. I wish my parents weren't the way they were, drunk and arrogant, but there is nothing I can do except take their harsh abuse everyday. When they wake up there is no "good morning darling," or "what a lovely day," only "Why do you exist you worthless piece of crap," or "make me a cup of coffee now or it's the cellar for an hour,"

The cellar by the way is a dark room beneath the kitchen which is crawling with spiders and other bugs, it is dark and damp and the dust clogs up your throat which makes breathing almost impossible. At the end of my time in there I crawl out coughing as grey as a cloud that throws lightning onto unsuspecting people who then end up in a hospital crippled for the rest of their natural life. I wish that happened to me. I know I should call social services but my parents won't let me answer the phone or pick it up.

 The day I decided to run away was dark and will play over in my mind for months, It was at 1:00am and my parents had got back from their daily escape from reality. They were coming up the stairs. I could hear glass smashing as wine a beer bottle hit the floor and shattered into hundreds of glowing pieces. They opened the door slowly as not to wake me, this was not because they cared it was because they enjoyed scaring then hitting me over and over. But I was awake. I sat up in bed. The door creaked open and more light poured into the dark and cold room. Their expressions slowly became clearer it was one of spite. They came up to me so close I could smell the alcohol in my fathers breath.

"you think your better than us don't you?"

"No, no I don't" I reply

"I'm going to remind you who is on top here, OK?"

With one smooth movement he jabs my jaw it clicks to one side and I wince from the pain. He does it again only this time in my eye, a mix of blood and tears pours from it turning into a dark and sickening pink. I let out a yelp as he grabs me by the neck and pushes my head against the wall it cracks then I crumble to the ground rolling out from my bed, I thump on the floor and groan. My father and mother then proceed to kick me repeatedly in the ribs.

I decided then and there. To escape myself.