My name is Sarah, I live in a non-social environment (or maybe I‘m the non-sociable one). I continuently write about how bad life tends to get for this small town girl. But I was told for a certain reason to write this entry. I was forced against my own free will to move to boring ass L.A., where everyone views me nothing more then a mannequin that stands there all the time staring and gazing upon different groups of people. But, something they don’t know, is my past. They can stand, stare, and laugh all they want. But they can’t criticize on something they know nothing of.

They really don’t know what it’s like to wake up everyday wondering what it’s like to want to lay back down and die. I have ice blue eyes (soft looking eyes though), my ability to be able to read peoples emotions (more known as an empath), and to being able to see dangers of the future (yet why could I see the one danger that threaten my future?), sometimes I want to cut my violet hair off because it makes me feel like I stand out so much, and that maybe it would make me look a little bit normal or to blend in so I don’t stand out so much. I do, I do stand out to much. Is it my fault I am so unique to where I was born with violet hair? I didn’t ask for it, it’s not like I went around asking for these things that happen! Life is a bitch sometimes just many people stand in there little herds roaming the grounds of teenage life and being “normal”. Well I go around wishing I could be one of those. All the damn time.

A lot of people here don’t understand the fact that I came home to an abusive, short-tempered, light brown eyed, black haired, Mexican father, who literally wanted me to die because he hated the fact he was known as “the weird girls father”. So what did he do? Took it out on my weak, dark brown eyed, brown haired, loving, Puerto Rican mother, every fucking night. So as you might guess that didn’t help me at all. I stayed in my room every night listening to my mom screeching in pain as I heard the horrible noise of the bare hand going across my mother’s face. It was horrible. Till one night I actually stood and looked through the keyhole and saw everything that he did. It was so brutal. It seemed like I was watching a demon itself trying to kill my mother. Then I had accidentally let out a quiet scream and he had heard me. My eyes bulged in fear as he came rushing to the door. I ran as quick as possible to my room, but the door was locked, it had a tendency to lock by itself from time to time. But, of all times it had to lock itself now? So I had to run to the bathroom as my last hope for escape. But it was to late…he had gotten a hold of my hair as my eyes flowed out with tears. He took me into the bedroom where my mom laid motionlessly. I stared at her for a brief second, then turned to him. He had the look of a killer who wanted to get rid of me so bad, and there I was giving him a chance to do it. So I looked away as yet more tears fell from my eyes. That was it, I looked back and it seemed a demon had attacked me. My vision went black and I heard nothing…

But almost two years later I have a better life with my mom only. She’s recovered fully now. Everything is going to be okay. Even though day by day I want to go back in time and stop my mom from ever meeting that bastard, so she wouldn’t have to go through all of what she went through. I wonder if it wouldn’t or would have still happened even if I wasn’t born. Yet another question that filled my head to worry about every single day. As for the bastard? He is no problem anymore for me and my mom. We had to go into the witness protection program, I was once known as Kimberly. But, I chose to leave that name, that life, and that brutal day all behind me. Even though I’m able to move on doesn’t mean I can forget it…like I said life is a bitch. Just how big of one can it be? Why don’t you tell me?