Shiny Shotguns&Sharp Katanas
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- Parts 12
I thought it was gonna be another night of blocking out my parents' constant need to judge me. But I was wrong, it felt like what happened wasn't even reality. But yet here I am trying to survive with nothing but a katana and a bag of stale Potato Chips.
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When Sammy's parents got divorced, she didn't mind at all, because she knew that they weren't meant to be together, and if they weren't happy with each other, then they don't have to stay together for her sake. She lived with her mom, and her dad visited regularly, when he could get away from his work; running a top class private boarding school. Her mom turns on her when her favourite person leaves town, and her life slowly starts losing meaning, and she can't think of anything that makes her happy, except being with her best friend. Then, she goes too... With nothing making her happy in her small town, she makes a life-changing decision, that she thinks will benifit her, and make her life all that she wanted. Or, it could go very wrong and be worse than staying where she is. "Dad, I want to live with you" I told him over the phone, in tears. Nothing new there. "Samantha, you know I'd love you too, but there isn't any school around this area, remember? My school is in the countryside, with nothing within a short driving dinstance" he all but rejected me. "Then can I move schools? Attend your boarding school?" He was silent, then let out a long sigh of defeat. "I'll enroll you now. Pack your things, I'll send a car in the morning for you." That was all I needed to hear, and I was thrilled. Without making noise, I danced around my room and repeatedly thanked him. Later that night, after the usual abuse, I silently packed my things when she was passed out. I hurried in doing it, and stored them at the back of my closet so she couldn't see them when she checked up on me. You're doing it, Sammy. You're finally getting out of here; away from all the bitchy girls, your mom, and old memories with Fletcher. I'm proud of you, girl...
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