a million reasons

home

home wasn't different from school.

    they're was yelling. constant yelling.

    fighting. constant fighting.

   we were a broken home.

   my father would hit her; he would hit my mother. when he was done with her, he would hit me.

  we should've left; but people don't always do the right thing.

  i remember one day he was so mad about something (i forget what about); he punched a hole into the dry wall.

  straight through it. almost to the other side. if i has lifted the edges i would have been able to look through my room into the hallway.  

     he wasn't my real father, i don't know why I'm saying father. my real father died a year before my mother met the abomination that is my stepdad.

   things started off fine; they met, and fell in love. then he fell in love with drugs and liquors.

   my mom was the first person to try to help him.. so she was the first person who he hit.

  he wanted the drugs more than my mother, but she wouldn't let that happen; she loved him.

   three years later we were still fighting his fight for him. three years of misery later, he crossed the line.

    seeing my mother in pain made me forget about my pain; for the time that i was home.

  one day he hit her so hard she fell to the ground. i ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

  i was going to stab him; kill him.

  he turned towards me as i ran at him, and he stopped me. he took the knife out of my hand and turned it towards me.

  he held it an inch from my face. i struggled, but he was stronger.

   he cut a straight line across my cheek. i ran after that; i didn't have a destination.

  i had no one. so i went to the woods.

  i would become very familiar to those woods in the days that passed. the woods almost saved me. the woods also caused my death.