Rain Drops

I watch the rain drops trickle from the window, slowly falling down, creating little lines that form little pictures. I awaited for my friend to call, for the phone to ring and some how have a chance of my father returning. My eyes start to get a little heavy, from tears or the fact that I am tired from staying up waiting. Listening to my Mp3 player and the pitter patter of the rain on my window, I slowly walk to my bed. 'Why hasn't he come home yet? Why do I have to wait every night to make sure he stays? Why can't I just live with a family with nothing to worry about?' I lay mumbling to myself. The ceiling is white and blotchy. I can see the dots of blood near my light from where I inflicted pain on my wrist. I remember that day as though it was yesterday. I can see the broken window from the day 'he' threw the scissors at me. The window shattered and the glass was all over the floor. You can still see the scratches on the slowly fading wood finish. My room is still dirty even though my mother told me to clean it. I don't listen to her much. Ever since she stopped believing me about what 'he' does to me, I just ignore her. She can't do anything, she is to afraid to hit me because I am bigger than her. I sit up, look at my room, clothes piled high on the couch, my bed covering the heat vent. Maybe that's why it's so damn cold in here. Blankets tightly pulled over one of my windows to prevent the sun from shining in. Ever since the 'day', i don't like the light very much. the cold and dark foggy days of a rainstorm suit me just fine. I walk over to my closet. I open the door and I wince as a bowling pin falls on my foot. I look at it and push it to the other pile of shit I have stacking up in the corner of my room. That is where i use to curl up and cry. I turn and I look at my wall. A brilliant orange. All my walls are covered with posters and my own art work. I quickly turn to my door. My heart starts to race, can it really be him? The door nob starts to turn, it opens a little, than he walks in. But it isn't really him, it is who i didn't want. 'He' is back once again. I start to panic wondering what I am going to do. The phone rings, I rush to answer it. It's my friend. Will she come to rescue me? Does she believe what I tell her or does she believe 'him'? I start to cry and she knows what's wrong. She called the police I am guessing. The lights are flashing a bright red and mellow blue. A loud siren blares in my ears. I cant hear detailed sounds. I can see my friend's lips moving, but I can't make out what she is saying. I reach out to grab her hand, and I can't move. What is going on? What happened? I look and see the needles in my arms, and the machines that are hooked up to me. I could hear the pitter patter of the raindrops now. I look at my friend and I could make out the last words she said before I drifted off. She cried, "If only I had gotten there sooner!"