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well first off i would like to tell you my mom is not abusive what so ever and i lover her very much and this story it made up and has some stretched truth, so with that said i hope you enjoy it.


Submitted:Oct 23, 2012    Reads: 34    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


It was a perfect day, the sky was blue with many clouds dotted throughout it,[1] and it was a cool eighty degrees. Some people would even go as far to say it was the best day of the year, but for me it couldn't have gotten any worse. It could've been snowing outside and I wouldn't of noticed because today is the day my report card comes in the mail. What usually is an ecstatic joyful time at home had changed into a grotesque monster of evil and hatred[2] because on this report card I'm failing.

I was in the fourth grade and it was the perfect time of year as spring turns to summer, but for me that time of year could not of been any worse because this day I know I'm in more trouble than I could ever imagine.

For weeks my mother told me to get my grades up, but being the invincible ten year old I thought I was, I didn't listen, so as I was walking home I knew I was in for a rude awakening.

With each step I took I became more and more nervous because with every step, I was closer to meeting my end. Then in what felt like merely seconds I was there standing at the garage door. Sealing my own fate I sluggishly open the door to hear the chime which once had no meaning to me, but today it signaled to all of my arrival.[3] Hearing no footsteps I had a surge of hope and though no one was home so if I got to my room I could escape the wrath of my mother. Only after a few steps all my hopes were crushed because standing just around the corner was my mother.

"Where are you going Dustin," she said "Your report card came in, you know what that means right? Slowly I nodded my head knowing my destined fate. "Good, now go get the spatula."

Little by little I shuffled towards the kitchen to retrieve the item that would be the death of me, and gave it to my mother who had an evil look in her eyes. A look that told me I was dead, a look that told me there might not be a tomorrow, a look that consisted pure evil. [4] Once she wielded her deadly weapon she used it to point where I would meet my horrible fate, and a soft voice said "bend over and hold on to the table." Scared out of my wits I did knowing there was no begging for her to stop, to not slug me on the butt, to not abuse me, to not hurt me,[5] because as I bent over I knew there was going to be no way to hold the tears that would flow freely over my face after she finishes her count down from three. Right as she said one I felt the searing pain of the cold plastic spatula connecting with my buttocks. Then what seemed almost a leisurely pace, she counted up from one all the way to ten, every number equaling another time I would feel the cold plastic connect once again. Each time felt harder, and connected with more force. Until finally my mom said ten the word which meant it was over, the word that meant the pain, the horrible pain, was finally over.

I vowed that I would never, as long as I lived, have a failing grade on a report card. Never again would the horrible pain ever happen again. Little did I know that this was going to be insignificant compared to what awaits me in ne near future of sixth grade only a short 2 years away. Until then though I thought I was free, though.





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