It felt like there was a beatnik playing bongos in my head. The lights were all too bright, and the music was too loud. There were too many people. I was shouting and shouting, though I had no idea why. My mother had told me I was meant for great things, that I would shine amongst everyone else. Then she abandoned me, leaving me with the step-dick. Stupid fucking cancer.

She said that this 'new daddy' would keep us safe. He didn't save her, did he? But that didn't matter to her, because she was living in her own little fantasy world, where she was a beautiful queen, married to a courageous king, and they had a lovely little princess.

She had no idea that King was Henry VIII, and she was Anne Boleyn.

I knew it was the cocaine that had me in this awful low, but I didn't care. As long as I got another line, I might be able to deal with him when I got home. But probably not.

I didn't care about anyone or anything. That childish innocence, the unconditional love… It was destroyed by my mother's death. Because with her death came every other pain I've suffered. Her sickness drove him mad. Ironic, isn't it? That the only sane person left in my world was the one causing the insanity.

So the lovely princess turned into a bitter witch. That's a twist to the fairytale.

I would go out and drown my sorrows in alcohol and hard drugs. Everybody I hung out with stood around me in awe of my ability to get high all the time, be drunk all the time, and not care about the consequences. I knew they were all little fakes, doing it for a rebellious image. I did it to forget, though it seemed like afterwards I would remember even more. Because every time I had to go back home. People talked of loneliness, empty houses… That would be preferable to this. Anything would be better than this. I would go back home, and he would be completely sober, unlike me. He would follow me into my room, hit me, shove me onto my bed, and then… then the abuse would start.

I would wake up very morning hung over, physically and emotionally drained. And I would start my day over again. Leave, drink, get high, and come back home to this again, every night. Yet I always went home. I knew what would happen, and I went home anyway. But tonight, I knew I wasn't going to. I was yelling obscenities at him. He had come to get me when I hadn't come home in time for him. He had somehow discovered that I was at this party.

He pulled out a pistol, pointing at me, trying to get me to leave. Everyone around us was terrified, and I was screaming at him. I knew that I was daring him to pull the trigger. His face was contorted in fury, and I was soon going to succeed.

As he brought up his arm, pointing the pistol between my eyes, I knew that it was a matter of seconds. I'll see you soon, mom. Everything she told me I had, all she said I would be, I was happily leaving behind.

Because the beautiful queen was wrong about all of it.


Yeah, this is just a short oneshot. Depressing, I know, but oh well :P

R&R please! :)