Status: active, but comments are much appreciated! ^-^
Victims of a Crime
And All Things Will End
I awoke to sun shining through my curtains. "The hell..." I mumbled before rolling over, causing my massive headache to only get worse.
Last night, I got drunk. Simple as that. Probably did some things I'll regret later on, but I won't know about those. I highly doubt I'll ever see those drinking buddies again. I never did.
After a long internal battle, I decided to just emerge from my seemingly eternal rest. If only. Then maybe I wouldn't have to worry about any of the shit I did.
The faces on my picture wall glared at me. Memories of my first year as a teenager -- robbing the 7/11, egging the principal's house, going to my first real metal concert. Avenged Sevenfold.
That was a year I would never forget, unless I let the weed and drugs get to me first. I couldn't help but let my favorite bands lyrics seep into my head.
Hey kid, do I have your attention? I know the way you've been living. Life so reckless, tragedy, endless, welcome to the family.
July 27th, I made sure I was at FYE at midnight. Sure enough I bought their first copy of Nightmare. I couldn't stop listening to Welcome to the Family. That song I truly connected with. I made a silent promise to myself to keep it together, if nothing else but for the boys I called my life savers. Last night, I broke that promise.
It's not like they would ever find out. It's not like I would ever meet them. It's not like they cared. But, for some odd reason, it was like I knew them. And that little shimmer of hope that they might just care was why I didn't commit suicide two months ago. And why I didn't get completely wasted last night.
My door flew open, revealing a very upset mother. She didn't care for me the way she used to. I couldn't blame her. I was a failure.
"Kadie, I can't do this anymore."
I didn't even have to ask. She was kicking me out, sending me to an adoption center or something.
"I'm sending you to live with my cousin. He lives in Huntington Beach, and he's a nice guy. Just don't ruin his life the way you ruined mine," she told me. I figured there would be tears in her eyes, but all they omitted was a very happy mood. This was something she'd been looking forward to. But why was she upset?
"Look, I didn't want it to come to this. But I lost my job, and they're kicking me out of the apartment. I can't afford a child who doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. You're leaving tomorrow. Pack up." She left, looking very accomplished, and shutting the door.
I didn't have much to pack. A few tees, no more than five pairs of jeans, my Chucks, and my nice Vans. I threw them into my faded A7X backpack and walked out of my room.
I wasn't going to miss the house at all. The perfection of everything bothered me. How did someone like me, a train wreck, wind up in a home like this? The disgusting yellow on the walls mocked me. At least I would never have to see them again. Even the photographs of a happy family disgusted me. That was before my mom got her job in Cleveland, and she was never home. That was before the drugs.
I was twelve. It started with a cigarette behind the bleachers at a Friday football game. Pete Mahoney offered it to me. I didn't know what it was, to be honest, because I was so sheltered before I met him. Needless to say, I thought it was amazing, and he made it a point to teach me his ways.
It wasn't until my thirteenth birthday that I really got into drugs. By then, I was an avid smoker. Whenever I would get stressed, I hid behind the shed outback and took a nice long drag. Pete decided I could start doing more "interesting" things. He introduced me to cocaine, and it just kept bigger from there.
I was pretty sure I'd had it all. Pete was a distant memory - he overdosed last year and was sent to a rehab center. I wasn't broken hearted, but maybe that's because I was high. I'll never know.
I was doing better now. Cocaine wasn't even thought of anymore. Occasionally, I'd take a cig or two when I got really stressed, but not much. That's what happens when you have a reason.
I went back to my room and began to tear my picture wall down and stuff it into my bag. No matter where I went, I would never forget those times.
My bed beckoned to me for one last time. Even though it was ten in the morning, I was tired. I collapsed on it and went to sleep.
Last night, I got drunk. Simple as that. Probably did some things I'll regret later on, but I won't know about those. I highly doubt I'll ever see those drinking buddies again. I never did.
After a long internal battle, I decided to just emerge from my seemingly eternal rest. If only. Then maybe I wouldn't have to worry about any of the shit I did.
The faces on my picture wall glared at me. Memories of my first year as a teenager -- robbing the 7/11, egging the principal's house, going to my first real metal concert. Avenged Sevenfold.
That was a year I would never forget, unless I let the weed and drugs get to me first. I couldn't help but let my favorite bands lyrics seep into my head.
Hey kid, do I have your attention? I know the way you've been living. Life so reckless, tragedy, endless, welcome to the family.
July 27th, I made sure I was at FYE at midnight. Sure enough I bought their first copy of Nightmare. I couldn't stop listening to Welcome to the Family. That song I truly connected with. I made a silent promise to myself to keep it together, if nothing else but for the boys I called my life savers. Last night, I broke that promise.
It's not like they would ever find out. It's not like I would ever meet them. It's not like they cared. But, for some odd reason, it was like I knew them. And that little shimmer of hope that they might just care was why I didn't commit suicide two months ago. And why I didn't get completely wasted last night.
My door flew open, revealing a very upset mother. She didn't care for me the way she used to. I couldn't blame her. I was a failure.
"Kadie, I can't do this anymore."
I didn't even have to ask. She was kicking me out, sending me to an adoption center or something.
"I'm sending you to live with my cousin. He lives in Huntington Beach, and he's a nice guy. Just don't ruin his life the way you ruined mine," she told me. I figured there would be tears in her eyes, but all they omitted was a very happy mood. This was something she'd been looking forward to. But why was she upset?
"Look, I didn't want it to come to this. But I lost my job, and they're kicking me out of the apartment. I can't afford a child who doesn't want anything to do with me anymore. You're leaving tomorrow. Pack up." She left, looking very accomplished, and shutting the door.
I didn't have much to pack. A few tees, no more than five pairs of jeans, my Chucks, and my nice Vans. I threw them into my faded A7X backpack and walked out of my room.
I wasn't going to miss the house at all. The perfection of everything bothered me. How did someone like me, a train wreck, wind up in a home like this? The disgusting yellow on the walls mocked me. At least I would never have to see them again. Even the photographs of a happy family disgusted me. That was before my mom got her job in Cleveland, and she was never home. That was before the drugs.
I was twelve. It started with a cigarette behind the bleachers at a Friday football game. Pete Mahoney offered it to me. I didn't know what it was, to be honest, because I was so sheltered before I met him. Needless to say, I thought it was amazing, and he made it a point to teach me his ways.
It wasn't until my thirteenth birthday that I really got into drugs. By then, I was an avid smoker. Whenever I would get stressed, I hid behind the shed outback and took a nice long drag. Pete decided I could start doing more "interesting" things. He introduced me to cocaine, and it just kept bigger from there.
I was pretty sure I'd had it all. Pete was a distant memory - he overdosed last year and was sent to a rehab center. I wasn't broken hearted, but maybe that's because I was high. I'll never know.
I was doing better now. Cocaine wasn't even thought of anymore. Occasionally, I'd take a cig or two when I got really stressed, but not much. That's what happens when you have a reason.
I went back to my room and began to tear my picture wall down and stuff it into my bag. No matter where I went, I would never forget those times.
My bed beckoned to me for one last time. Even though it was ten in the morning, I was tired. I collapsed on it and went to sleep.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is reeeeally short, but it's the first story I'm putting on here that I'm writing as I go. So, if you want more, comments are needed. ^-^What do you want to see happen next? Who should be her mom's cousin?
(I already know, but I want yer input!)
:D