Writer: Timothy Dumont Jr.
Co-writer: Crystal Ferguson

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

172: Out Of My Head -Alice-

Life is something that you have until you don't, and once gone you lose everything; gain nothing. At least this is what I thought when I'd woken up this morning and slipped on my clothes. They were hidden beneath the beer cans filled with various liquids unknown that littered the living room floor.

I stepped over my Dad's passed out body and made my way over to the other couch, where my Mother lay naked and bruised. I could see her breathe as I covered her with the living room rug that had gotten swept up in last night's binge drinking. A cold draft came from the open front door. Stepping carefully over the many empty syringes and pill bottles, I made my way toward it.

Today, I was lucky. I was going to a museum for a field trip, which meant I wouldn't have to deal with my Dad's violent hangovers and my Mother's scalding tongue of hate. I was never good enough to them and honestly, I didn't think I was either. I guess that's what happens when you live your life always being told how pathetic you are.

I grabbed my yellow stained backpack and as I shut the door behind me I sniffed it, only to find that my Dad had probably lost control of his bladder in its general vicinity. Ignoring the smell I headed off to the bus.

The entire bus ride to the museum I endured the children that made passing comments about my hair and the smell of my backpack. Being fourteen is hard, being fourteen with my family . . . is impossible. Some days, I just wished I would die. That bus ride was the last one I'd ever take, and I wish I could take it again.

I wish I'd never woken up in that chair, unable to move and staring at a strange, terrified looking man. I heard another man say what was going on, and I saw the man in front of me make the single choice that I'd never realized that I didn't want.

My Mother was horrible. My life was a mess. I had no friends, but I didn't want to die.

The pain as the guy stood up was beyond explanation. Small metal shards pushing their way through the side of my face, making mush of what I once called my brain. My life was over in an instant because one guy decided that I wasn't worth living, just like everyone else I knew. I welcomed the darkness that should have followed. I closed my ethereal eyes and waited for the nothing.

I still could think but that would be gone soon. Even the voices of the people in the room would fade. All cares would be gone, and there would be nothing of me left. Soon.

Fifteen minutes passed and the room had become empty.

So why was I still here?

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