For All The Wounds That Are Ever Gonna Scar Me
Abusive
I sat up on the bathroom floor.
BAM! She hit me again, "Clean it up punk!" she yelled, tugging on my ear, pulling me closer to the toilet.
I had just finished vomiting my dinner again. She stuck her finger down my throat everynight after dinner and made me clean it up. It made me sick, but I had to do as she said...or else...
My name is Robert Bryar, I am ten years old, and I am constantly being beaten and abused by my mother.
I finished cleaning the vomit and she sent me to my closet for the rest of the night (my bedroom). I crawled around in the tiny closet for a few seconds and found the corner I would sleep in under a thin quilt for the night.
I woke up the next morning, when my mom pinched the loab of my ear and pulled me down the hall into the kitchen. She poured a bucket of ice cold water on me (this was known as my shower). She then gave me that long sleeve green shirt and old black jeans to wear to school like I do everyday.
I walked over to the small square mirror at the mouth of the hall way. She threw a rag at me (my toothbrush). I put the cloth over my fingers and ran them across my teeth, scrubbing off as much plaque as possible.
I slowly walked over to the kitchen where my mother filled a plastic cup with tap water. She set the cup down on the counter and I picked it up. She did not glance at me and I did not dare to look at her.
No eye contact.
I drank from the cup and walked down the hall into the bathroom to spit in the sink. I looked at my tired self in the mirror. My small blue eyes were scared and restless. My blond long hair was matted and patches were missing from where mother had pulled... My yellow teeth were aching from not visiting dentists and never brushing. I was a horrid child. I was alone in the world and no one would ever know of what went on in my mother's house when she beat me.
BAM! She hit me again, "Clean it up punk!" she yelled, tugging on my ear, pulling me closer to the toilet.
I had just finished vomiting my dinner again. She stuck her finger down my throat everynight after dinner and made me clean it up. It made me sick, but I had to do as she said...or else...
My name is Robert Bryar, I am ten years old, and I am constantly being beaten and abused by my mother.
I finished cleaning the vomit and she sent me to my closet for the rest of the night (my bedroom). I crawled around in the tiny closet for a few seconds and found the corner I would sleep in under a thin quilt for the night.
I woke up the next morning, when my mom pinched the loab of my ear and pulled me down the hall into the kitchen. She poured a bucket of ice cold water on me (this was known as my shower). She then gave me that long sleeve green shirt and old black jeans to wear to school like I do everyday.
I walked over to the small square mirror at the mouth of the hall way. She threw a rag at me (my toothbrush). I put the cloth over my fingers and ran them across my teeth, scrubbing off as much plaque as possible.
I slowly walked over to the kitchen where my mother filled a plastic cup with tap water. She set the cup down on the counter and I picked it up. She did not glance at me and I did not dare to look at her.
No eye contact.
I drank from the cup and walked down the hall into the bathroom to spit in the sink. I looked at my tired self in the mirror. My small blue eyes were scared and restless. My blond long hair was matted and patches were missing from where mother had pulled... My yellow teeth were aching from not visiting dentists and never brushing. I was a horrid child. I was alone in the world and no one would ever know of what went on in my mother's house when she beat me.
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Yeahh, the rest are longer. This is my first story on mibba. I've got tons on quizilla. But it seems that all the 'cool' kids are moving onto mibba these days. I decided to try it out. I hope you liked it.