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That story kinda reminds me of the booked called “a Child called it” Its such a sad book

Omg i love that story!!!!! omg omg omg i loved it!! can i add onto it?

Hey!

I wrote this story and used your words that you suggested. Here it is:

Sitting in the chair looking at my report card and glancing over at my father sitting in the old chair in the living room with his beer and his remote, I could only think of what would happen when my mom got home from work. I had a B in Science. I couldn’t believe it. I knew she wouldn’t be proud of me even if I did get straight A’s. I sat and watched the clock for the next few minutes. All I could hear was the constant swallowing of the awful drink in my father’s hands. All of a sudden, the keys in the door’s lock, the twisting of the knob, all made me feel so nervous. My mother walked in the door with her usual upset look. She immediatly asked me, “Did you get your report card?”. I couldn’t lie to her because that would be just one more excuse for her to beat me. I replied very nervously, “Yes. How was work?” I wanted to take her mind off of wanting to see the grades. She then stomped her heals into the kitchen where I was sitting, ripped the paper out of my hands, and gave no other expressions. She set it down on the island in the center of the kitchen and looked at me, “What is that?”. My heart fell to the floor once again. “Go to your room. I will meet you up there in a few minutes”, my mom said very dissapointingly. I hurried upstairs without one hesitant stop. As I walked up the steps, all I could feel was the pain in my heart. I couldn’t even think about the painful bruises on my arms, legs, ribs, and back. The walk to my room felt like the longest minute of my life. I sat on my bed and cracked the door behind me. I wanted to cry but knew I couldn’t. As I waited the next seventy-two minutes in my room, I didn’t move. I sat there, no sound, just thinking of what I could have done differently. I heard the pound on the door and behind it was my mother. She immediatly slapped me. The stinging pain wouldn’t be the last one. I knew it. She slapped me again and again and soon began punching me. I fell onto the floor and covered my head. I knew I couldn’t escape until she was finished. Over and over, the repititon of the pounding. I sat and waited for her to finish. One tear fell down my cheek and I immediatly stopped. I couldn’t cry. I would be in this terrible situation longer if I had. Once she finished she looked at me, “Go to bed. You don’t deserve dinner tonight. I need to buy your father some more beer. Bye.” That was the last bye I would hear from her. As she left, I used the bed to help myself up off of the floor. I layed on the bed, crying. Not for long though. When I heard the front door slam, I jumped up. I went to the bathroom and looked at the bruises she had left me with this time. I then snuck down the stairs. I crawled slowly and peeked around every corner of each wall to make sure no one would see. I had a straight path to the only escape but first, I would have to pass my father’s chair. I took a quick peek and jumped back. He was asleep with a pile of empty cans lying around him. I tip-toed out the door and soon, I was free. Free from the abusive mother. Free from the alcoholic father. I was free! I didn’t know where to go, I just went. I walked down our street and took the first left. I could feel the cool air rushing on my dirty face while running down a vacant, empty road. Nothing but the old blue jeans and the t-shirt I had on earlier. Mom being abusive and dad being drunk all the time, I never felt loved. So, I ran away. I ran harder and harder not paying any attention to the pain I felt. I stopped 24 miles away from my house. I couldn’t believe I had made it that far. I wondered what my parents were doing but then realized my dad was probably sitting on the chair with a can in his hand, drunk and my mother was at work not caring a thing about me. I layed under the park bench hoping to get a little rest. I immediatly felt the horrible pains in my legs and arms. They were both bruised. I could feel something cold running down my face. It wasn’t a tear. I wasn’t crying. I wiped it off with my hand and it was a deep red. My forehead was bleeding. I couldn’t take anything too much longer. I rolled out of it and decided to run a bit longer. I ran farther than ever before. I ran past my famile’s house, past the airport, to the hospital. I ran through the front doors, to the desk and just fell to my knees and cried. I had relief. I didn’t care I hadn’t been helped yet, I was going to get help. I needed every bit of that love.

5 weeks later, I was released from the hospital and put into and orfanage. My parents were both taken for child neglect and I couldn’t have been happier. Only a month later, I was moving in with my new family. A family who loved me, who didn’t drink beer, who didn’t see abuse as punishment. I was free from everything. I had the best, new life to live and I took advantage of it. 12 years later, on the same day I reached the hospital, I was thinking of my life. I had a husband and 2 wonderful children. My parents and siblings all loved being around and helping me when I needed to run errands or go to work. I am very glad that I was saved from the terrible life I had before. My job today is speaking to help warn children what abuse is. I run a center for children who have been neglected by their parents and it is running well. Thanks to my new family and the hospital, I no longer have a single bruise to think about.

Hi :)
I still miss my dog :(
I had no choice anyway

lol Happy Monday!

hello?

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