(Under Major Editing)
Meet Clarke Makenzie the torn, beat up, 17-year-old nerd which endures endless pain and torture from the ones around her. Since she was 12 years' old, she has lived with the one and only her father Graham Makenzie, in the year...
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ℙ𝔸ℝ𝕋 𝕀𝕀
"𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕪
𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕀 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕦𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦"
𝒞𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒'𝓈 𝒫𝒪𝒱 (edited)
It was like flashes of light, with every passing second memories came flooding back to me. My mind was overwhelmed by thought, What would life be like if she was here with me? What would of happened if I didn't call her that day? She would of been here, and I wouldn't be laying in a pool of my own blood. If I had just realised my problems weren't important, I would of been happy. Maybe she would be with me...
So many people told me that it wasn't my fault, that it was the drunk driver...
But if i'd only listened to myself, if I had only left her be, she would be here and I wouldn't be left with a drunk and abusive father. The day her life ended so did mine, and everyday I think about her the more it hurts to live. I don't know how much longer I can stand living in a world of fear, misery and violence. I wasn't a violent person, all I wanted to be was loved.
After reliving memory after memory, it left me feeling empty. Her death made me feel sick, to think such a simply deed lead to my life full of misery and pain. I lifted my weak and injured body from the ground, and carefully using my right arm I lifted my body with my remaining strength. I made my way slowly over to the stairs and with every step I took I could feel the burning sensation of my broken bones on fire. If I could explain it, I'd say I felt on fire, the agony coming with losing something crossed with the struggle to breath. I wanted to call an end to this, but I knew if I gave up I'd never look at myself the same. I didn't even think my mother would, she'd be disappointed.
The damage done to me was definitely noticeable. If you took one look at me you'd know something happened. Not just physically but mentally.. everything from the tipy top to the bottom screamed I'm damaged. My father not only broke two ribs, but also my left wrist and left major bruises and cuts over my body. I wondered how in hell I was going to explain this. especially if I needed to write anything. I couldn't just say 'hey my father book my wrist, sorry can't do any homework.' I'd never hear the end of it if somebody knew.
I finally made it to my bedroom, and closed the door behind me locking it in the process. I made my way over to my bed and carefully laid down upon it, not even bothering to get under the sheets, i drifted into a deep slumber were there was a void of nothingness in my thoughts, except the memories of my fathers face... some would say he is my nightmare, but its more the life I'm living then him. I don't know if I'll ever escape him, with every passing day I become more doubtful of surviving.
