Authoress’s Note: This story was created from a writing assignment I had to do for my sophomore English class. People have told me that it was quite good, so I have decided to post it.

You can choose to review or read it and leave, but I would prefer a review since criticism will help me grow as writer.

A Childhood of Misery

I was walking to the store when something brought back memories of a forgotten past. What I saw was a mother and her child going shopping. It brought back memories of how my mother died and how soon after my father became abusive. This started when I was three years old and didn't stop until I was thirteen. The day I finally got the help I needed, started out like a regular day, well for at least me it was.

"Michelle, get down here now!" yelled my father.

"Coming," I stuttered.

I hurried up and got out of bed, trying hard to find an outfit that would cover the bruises that I received the night before. As soon as I was dressed, I went downstairs. My father was nowhere to be found and it was raining outside. I quickly grabbed my jacket and umbrella and ran out of the house, without eating breakfast, as usual. I ran all the way to the bus stop, where I knew I'll be safe from him.

The one thing about my dad was that he made sure that no one found out about him beating me. Of course, all child abusers probably are like that.

"Hi, Michelle."

I turned around to see my one true best friend, Samantha.

"Hi, Samantha. How ya doing?"

"Oh, I'm doing fine. Hey, are you going to the dance on Friday?"

"No, I have something else to do on Friday." I really hated lying to her, but I had to. I didn't want her to know about the abuse I was receiving. Also I didn't want her to see the bruises and scars that I had to hide.

"Oh, ok."

Just then the bus pulled up. We got in, sat in the only seats that were able (one in the front of the bus, the other in the middle) and waited until we were at the school before continuing our

conversation.

Once I took my seat in home-room, Samantha and I resumed our conversation, but I made sure that the topics stayed away from my home life. Then the bell rang and it was time for first period. The day went on as usual, but little did I know what was coming my way.

At fifth period, I sat down in my assigned seat. Soon the teacher came in and said that today we were having a guest speaker. When I heard this, I started thinking, "Now I can get some sleep." Just then a tall lady walked into the room. She had short brown hair that reached her shoulders, brown eyes, glasses and was dressed in a somewhat casual fashion.

"Class; this is Mrs. Smith. Please welcome her," said the teacher.

"Hello," said all of the students, including me. Then the teacher continued.

"Mrs. Smith is here to talk you about abuse."

When the teacher said that I literally froze, but quickly gain my composure before anybody notice. Just then the guest speaker started to talk. I listened very closely to what she had say. She said things like if someone is abused then it's not their fault. I just thought she was nuts. Soon class was over and I couldn't get what she said out of my mind. I kept looking at the small booklet she gave me and everybody else in the class. When lunch time came around I was able to talk to Samantha again.

"Hey, Michelle, what's that in your hand?"

"Oh, this, just something I got in health class."

"Can I see it?"

"Sure." I said absent-mindedly. I then handed the booklet to her. As soon as she was done looking at it she handed it back to me.

"So Michelle, anything happened to you today?"

"Nope. Just another usual day."

Soon school was over and it was time to go home. As usual I was afraid of this, but I made sure it didn't show. It was still raining when I walked into the house, fearful of another beating, but to my surprise he was nowhere to be found. After I checked the house, I went up to my room and started thinking.

I thought of all of the time he had beaten me. Of how in very extreme cases I would end up in the hospital. I even remember a time where he pushed me out of a four story window and miraculously survived. Of course they didn't find any proof that he cause the incident. Then what the guest speaker said entered my mind.

"Any type of abuse whether physical or emotional can't be justified. It is never the victim's fault."

It was then that I realized that she was right. Throughout most of my childhood I lived in fear and always thought it was my fault that I was beaten. It was about time that I got help. So with that in mind, I picked up the booklet and dialed the number that was located on the back. The counselor and I talked for a while. I told the person everything. About how it started and how severe it got. I was nervous at first. Here I was telling a stranger about my problem. But then I realized that they were there to help people like me and that it was good to finally get that off my chest. Soon I hung up the phone and looked outside the window. When I did I saw a beautiful rainbow and knew that soon things will be getting better.

I never did find out why he wasn't home that day, but it doesn't matter anymore. I finally got help and I'm now living with two wonderful people. Only downside to this is that I never got to see my friend Samantha again. From this tragic experience I learned two things. One is that it is never the victim's fault if their abused and second is that I can survive anything that comes my way.

Joya Oscura

Authoress Note: Some of you are probably thinking that this story isn't realistic to the situation. The reason why is because I have never been in this type of situation. (For this I am grateful.) I also have not done any research into the matter when I originally wrote this. So if you are wondering why this story is the way it is, that’s the reason.

AN #2: It’s been six years since I wrote this and I still have not found the time to rewrite this piece of fiction. So I just looked this over and fixed a few grammatical and spelling mistakes.