Just an idea I had. Its about a girl growing up in a household were she is unhappy. Offten with this story you will only see things in her prospective and her thought process. I'm open to suggestions and new ideas to make it better.

Could you do the unthinkable if you had to? Would you even ponder the conciquences of your actions and what they could do to others? Could you live with yourself if you hurt or killed someone? I don't think I could, but when  have my thoughts ever mattered. Would you still do it anyway? Kill someone because you were angry or felt like it? I know people that would. These are all good questions to bad the world will never hear them. I am going to die. That is set in stone. I just don't know when, were, or how. But honestly it don't really care.


   It's the 26th of April and I loath the fact that today is Monday and I have to go to school as I stand around in my upstairs room. I hate school. All the ignorance of my peers drives me insane, but like my father befor me and I myself say you can't fix stupidity. But how on earth can I of all people forget about all the drug and alcohol abuse that goes on in this small back water town, or as I  think of it the next hell on earth.

   "Sky, babe come down here or you'll be late for school."

   The only thing I hate more than school. My mother. Sad to think she still doesn't know the name my father gave me 15 years ago at the time because she was too high at the time to do anything but laugh like an idiot. At the time of her pregnansy with me and my birth she was high on illeagal drugs. Its really a mirical I'm alive. Because she was on drugs when I was developing I was amediatly addicted to them at birth. Really the only reason I don't do drugs is because she did them and I absoulutly can not stand to be like her in any way, shape or form. From her bottle blond hair to her boobs and love handles hanging our in her can't possibly get any tighter clothes, and stupid southern accient with a bit of "real house wives slang" like saying babe or darling every five minutes. She drives me insane.  

   "Sky. Bay. Come down here." my mother calls again slitly desperatly. "Breckfast is getting cold."

   I start down the stairs, and when half way down I can smell something burnning or most likly burnt. Suddenly thankful for school I say, "Got to go."

   My mom look sad and I almost feel guilty, when she says "Oh, ok sweetie." She sounds actually like a mom. I almost start crying, but I pull myself together and walk out the door. When I look bad just befor shuting the door I see her sitting crestfallen in a wooden chair at our small wooden table. Its only the two of us so she didn't go all out on our kitchen/dinning room table.


The End

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