Vincents Life Story

The baby in the back of that ambulance was me, born motherless into a harsh and unforgiving world, son of an adulterant father who was never there. My father turned up 3 weeks after I was born, asking for me, he didn’t really want me but he had no choice. So he took me too his fancy apartment and basically put me into the corner of my life, I spent more of my time with the nanny than I did with him. He was always ‘away on a business trip’ or ‘working late at the office’. All bullshit of course, when he was ‘working late’ he was actually off somewhere screwing one of his secretaries, he even did this while my mother was alive, or so I hear. I spent twelve years living in this glossy shit hole until the day it happened. My first. They say you always remember your first, but maybe that’s something else.

I remember it clearly, even after nine long years. It was a Saturday morning at bout 7:36 and the power rangers were to their usual shenanigans. My new step mother, Jessica my fathers old secretary, had just woke up and proceeded to reign down abuse on me. She was always cranky in the morning before her tranquilizers and several large gin and tonics. A hand connected solidly with the back of my head and I dropped my cereal all over the rug. What a nice greeting.
“You little shit! Look what you’ve done now! You woke me up with that fucking TV!” a vase flew past my head and collided with the screen, hitting the red ranger square in the face.
“Clean this mess up now! Just wait until your father hears about this…” I walked slowly into the kitchen, went under the sink to a small cupboard and pulled out a small dust pan and brush. Almost twelve years of abuse fucks you up, right and wrong seem the same and I had been suffering horrible nightmares and blackouts at the time. As I entered the living room and made for the pool of cereal I heard the Jessica mumble something.
“I’m glad the brats mum is dead. If I was his mother…” I snapped.
“You’re not my mother! You never have been! You never will be! Fuck off and die!” she froze, gin and tonic in hand. I couldn’t stop my self. Before I knew what was going on the dust pan had already left my hand and made a satisfying ‘thunk’ on the back of her head. Shit.

She stood up roaring at me; I panicked and bolted for the kitchen slamming the door behind me. Muffled yells hit the door and drill their way through it.
“You little wanker! You wait ‘til I get this door open! You’ll regret the day you were born…” I already did.
“… I’m gonna kill you, you little shit! You hear me?! You’re dead!” I opened the cutlery drawer and produced a 12 inch carving knife. Staring at my distorted reflection in its merciless steel blade really put my life into perspective. Seeing my face twisted like that made me think “I can end it now”. Then my eyes faded to black as the door slammed open.
“You’re not my mother”.