I came home and set my stuff down in my dark room. My father had closed off light from the outside world long ago; that's why whenever I was outside I loved it and enjoyed every precious second. It was so difficult to wake up in my room because I was constantly warm in my temporary bliss and it was pitch black in my room because the curtains had been pulled shut. When the lights were out I couldn't see anything. As my father stepped into our house I pondered what they would fight about tonight. My mom strolled through the living room to the kitchen so that she could make dinner. My father stepped into my doorway to glance around my room and fathom an excuse to gripe me out again.

He finally found one, "The next time I tell you to clean your room, clean all of it, not just the stuff out of your floor."

Not bad for him. Very moderate, actually. I guess he didn't feel like arguing with ME today. My mom and I got along pretty well; thank God I had no siblings. Not more than one person needed to be put through this. Why can't my dad and mom get along? There's so much pain flooding these walls, like a flood drowning the populations of the Earth. If she wants to be with him and he wants to be with her then why do they fight constantly? They always name the problems but they never solve them. It's so pathetic, even my friends and I solve our problems. This house is haunted with screams of anger, frustration, and fear. You see, once my dad hit my mom and gave her a black eye. I was to small to know what was really happening, so my mom simply told me we were going away for awhile, taking a holiday. My dad sold my left over possesions to buy himself alcohol to rid his mind of stress. He somehow convinced my mother to come back before she could get the courage to file for a divorce.

She did with one final statement: "I will always remember this, even twenty years after I'm dead and gone."

I know my home life sucks, but I really can't help it. It's not right. I know that. I don't think I'll ever have children, heck, I don't think I'll even get married. I won't make any child go through this torture, or myself. I don't know what to say except--pray; pray for abused mothers and children everywhere. Pray for me. Think of me whenever you cry because you are left out or being made fun of. I'll always think of you--and wish my life was that simple.