Damaged goods.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is just a small bit of my book, my stories are very personal too me so any feedback/advice is welcome.

Submitted: December 17, 2013

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Submitted: December 17, 2013

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The same familuar sound of emty alcohol bottles rolling around the foor, the sound of drunking conersations that start of happy yet end up sad and bitter, the sound of an aeguemnt thats being brewimg for days, theese are the sounds of my chidhood. 
Getting woken by an almighty crash of glass breaking and screamng, at 6 years old i should be confused and runing to my mother and father for help, but what do you do when the same people who brought you into the world, are the people behind this, when your terrified to leave your bedroom because of the sights you might see. Is tonight the night that you, again, witness your fathers self harm or your mothers, or even worse both, like that has happened twice in my short 6 years of living. Will i have no choice but to try and help their wounds while they fight it, while my father continuesly cuts his arms more and more utill theres blood every where, or is tonight another case of my father beating my mother while i witness helplessly. or, like i would wish and pray for through tear stained eyes every night, that tonight is the night where a glass has just fell of the table and i have just had a bad dream. 
Growing up in the good part of london, its not the sort of life our neuighbourhood lived, with high up classy people in the streets we stuck out like a sore thumb, not that I even noticed at that age. You see I had all my family around, my granparents a ten minute walk away, cousins sread all about london, it wasnt a if i was a neglected chid, my parents gave me everything i needed. I Lived comfortably with my mother, father, older brother nd older sister, my brother is five year older than me and my sister a year and a haf so, as siblings, we were close. We had a three bedroom house with a front and back garden, in the back garden we had a shed that was made into a make belive house for me and my sister to play in, an apple tree that grew the sourest apples and a flower bed that my mother took pride in. So we looked like normal children, we were nomal children, just with selfish parents who had ther own issues.  I would sometimes attend school, most mornings my mother was sleep deprived from her boozy night beofre to take me to school, other times they would simply call the school and pull me out for weeks on end for their own selfish needs. When i did attend however, i loved school. Meeting new people, pretending not to be me for just one day, laughing how all the other kids my age would, aways having an unnesasery attached to school teachers that would quite frequntly cause me distress as moving school and houses was a thing my parents loved to do. Now at the age of 20 I can honeslty say  I have lost count of the amount of schools I have attended and how many houses I have had. 

This is the story of my childhood.


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