Love Like Cyanide
A Name No One Would Want To Call Their Own
hate
–verb (used with object)
1. to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; detest: to hate the enemy; to hate bigotry.
2. to be unwilling; dislike: I hate to do it.
–verb (used without object)
3. to feel intense dislike, or extreme aversion or hostility.
–noun
4. intense dislike; extreme aversion or hostility.
5. the object of extreme aversion or hostility.
I didn't need any clues to figure out that my mother didn't like me. I could easily tell by the way she looked at me and shuddered lightly. It took a while for me to finally ask her about it though. Reluctantly, without looking me directly in the eyes, she explained to me why it might seem she had a certain distaste for me.
My mother, Kathryn Mitchal, was raped by the man that she thought she loved. After what he did she was ripped in two; body and soul, literally and figuratively. She promised to never love another filthy scum bag male again. You can just imagine her reaction when she found out she was pregnant with me.
And that's how I got the name Cyanide. I was the hydrocyanic acid poisoning her womb. The fact that that monster plant himself inside her and was now there growing was enough to make her go mad. But luckily for me, not enough that she'd get an abortion. And luckily for me, I'm a girl.
It's a horrible name. Though some kids in my grade (mostly juvenile delinquents) said my name was awesome and wished their parents named them something cooler than the usual "Mark" or "David." Listen to me and listen to me good when I say that this name is one that nobody would want to have to call their own.
The teachers had an opposite reaction obviously. Ever since I can remember in third grade my teachers had given me weird looks when I told them my name. Cyanide Blasphémer Mitchal. Oh and by the way, my middle name, Blasphémer, is French for curse. Ah yes, how I love my mother.
Why didn't she just call me Satan or Hitler while she was at it?
Anyway, I never liked my mom to begin with so I guess that makes it easier dealing with the fact that she doesn't like me as much as she should. Truth is, I just want someone to care for me. I didn't have any family besides my mom. She was an only child so no aunts or uncles, and her parents are dead so no grandma or grandpa.
My life is like a broken clock; only ticking once in a while with the last of my hope. It surprised me, how much hope I still held. I would still always hope for a happy future with someone that loved me. But I'm sure all that hope would disappear by tomorrow afternoon.
Tomorrow I would be meeting him. My...father. The creature that destroyed my life before I was even born.
–verb (used with object)
1. to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; detest: to hate the enemy; to hate bigotry.
2. to be unwilling; dislike: I hate to do it.
–verb (used without object)
3. to feel intense dislike, or extreme aversion or hostility.
–noun
4. intense dislike; extreme aversion or hostility.
5. the object of extreme aversion or hostility.
I didn't need any clues to figure out that my mother didn't like me. I could easily tell by the way she looked at me and shuddered lightly. It took a while for me to finally ask her about it though. Reluctantly, without looking me directly in the eyes, she explained to me why it might seem she had a certain distaste for me.
My mother, Kathryn Mitchal, was raped by the man that she thought she loved. After what he did she was ripped in two; body and soul, literally and figuratively. She promised to never love another filthy scum bag male again. You can just imagine her reaction when she found out she was pregnant with me.
And that's how I got the name Cyanide. I was the hydrocyanic acid poisoning her womb. The fact that that monster plant himself inside her and was now there growing was enough to make her go mad. But luckily for me, not enough that she'd get an abortion. And luckily for me, I'm a girl.
It's a horrible name. Though some kids in my grade (mostly juvenile delinquents) said my name was awesome and wished their parents named them something cooler than the usual "Mark" or "David." Listen to me and listen to me good when I say that this name is one that nobody would want to have to call their own.
The teachers had an opposite reaction obviously. Ever since I can remember in third grade my teachers had given me weird looks when I told them my name. Cyanide Blasphémer Mitchal. Oh and by the way, my middle name, Blasphémer, is French for curse. Ah yes, how I love my mother.
Why didn't she just call me Satan or Hitler while she was at it?
Anyway, I never liked my mom to begin with so I guess that makes it easier dealing with the fact that she doesn't like me as much as she should. Truth is, I just want someone to care for me. I didn't have any family besides my mom. She was an only child so no aunts or uncles, and her parents are dead so no grandma or grandpa.
My life is like a broken clock; only ticking once in a while with the last of my hope. It surprised me, how much hope I still held. I would still always hope for a happy future with someone that loved me. But I'm sure all that hope would disappear by tomorrow afternoon.
Tomorrow I would be meeting him. My...father. The creature that destroyed my life before I was even born.
♠ ♠ ♠
Man, I was so fucking pissed when I wrote this chapter. Or should I say REWROTE this chapter. Once I finished the chapter I clicked submit and apparently I wasn't signed in. AHHH! *pulls at hair from roots*But anyway, this was mainly just a little thing that I was writing to help vent after I got seriously angry at my mom. I calmed down enough to write this chapter but now I'm all angry again since Mibba fucking logged me out!!! *swears into computer screen*
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