The Boy With the Useless Scar
How It Began
When I was five, my father hated me. Yeah, yeah, general case of fathers that don't like their children. But my father was worse than most. My mother was at work, and my father was drunk. Being five, I didn't realise what it did to him, only that he smelled horrible, and most of the time he ignored me.
That day I was hungry. Well, starving. I hadn't eaten that entire day, and it was eight o'clock P.M. I did what any child would; I asked my father for food. I begged and pleaded, until he yelled at me to cook my own food. I didn't have any idea how to cook, and mother never let me near the stove. Therefore, I begged him more. I guess his temper flared, because he got up and grabbed my arm. He dragged me to the kitchen, but it gets fuzzy after that.
When I woke up, there was "USELESS" carved into my arm. I couldn't read when I was younger, but I came to read what it said. I remember mother coming home in the morning, seeing me, and her pouring rubbing alcohol on my arm, cleaning it with a rag, then bandaging it. I also remember her screaming at my father, hitting him, yelling curse words at him. I remember following her upstairs, watching her throw my things into a suitcase, then shoving all of her things in another.
I remember grabbing my black and white teddy bear off the steps before my mother took my hand, taking me to the car, my father yelling obscunities behind us as my mother loaded me into the car. She got in, and the last memory of that day I have is her saying, "Don't worry, sweetie. We're going to Aunt Jenny's, you like her."
That's how I became the Boy with the Useless Scar.
That day I was hungry. Well, starving. I hadn't eaten that entire day, and it was eight o'clock P.M. I did what any child would; I asked my father for food. I begged and pleaded, until he yelled at me to cook my own food. I didn't have any idea how to cook, and mother never let me near the stove. Therefore, I begged him more. I guess his temper flared, because he got up and grabbed my arm. He dragged me to the kitchen, but it gets fuzzy after that.
When I woke up, there was "USELESS" carved into my arm. I couldn't read when I was younger, but I came to read what it said. I remember mother coming home in the morning, seeing me, and her pouring rubbing alcohol on my arm, cleaning it with a rag, then bandaging it. I also remember her screaming at my father, hitting him, yelling curse words at him. I remember following her upstairs, watching her throw my things into a suitcase, then shoving all of her things in another.
I remember grabbing my black and white teddy bear off the steps before my mother took my hand, taking me to the car, my father yelling obscunities behind us as my mother loaded me into the car. She got in, and the last memory of that day I have is her saying, "Don't worry, sweetie. We're going to Aunt Jenny's, you like her."
That's how I became the Boy with the Useless Scar.