Homeless in a Home

March 15, 2010
By Corixxx17 BRONZE, W. Long Branch, New Jersey
Corixxx17 BRONZE, W. Long Branch, New Jersey
3 articles 1 photo 0 comments

Homelessness… adjective, without a home. Home… noun, a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household. Not really what definition I’m trying for. Home… noun, any place of refuge: a heavenly home. Exactly, But that’s not the definition for my house. House… noun, a building in which people live. And that’s exactly what my ‘family’ has, a house.
I said ‘family’ for one simple fact. Family… Noun, parents and their children, considered as a group. A family of this status would be there for each other, no matter what. Family… noun, any group of persons closely related by blood, such as parents, children, uncles, aunts, and cousins. That’s what I have, people that are said to be parents, brother and sisters, aunts uncles and cousins, but we’re not a true family. A true family would not leave me behind every time they go out, with out even inviting me.
If you haven’t guessed already, I am an outcast, an outcast among outcasts. Let me tell you, it’s not a very great place to be. Always to be left out. Always to be the one blamed for everything. The lamp broke from my younger brother running around in the living room, before an interrogation to the little six year old could begin, he blames me.

“Elena did it!” And with out even giving me a chance to retort, I’m thrown over my ‘father’s shoulder. Father… noun, a male parent. Any man can be a father; it takes a true man to be a dad. If he was my dad would not throw me into my ‘bedroom’. Bedroom… noun, a place of tranquility, expressing ones own personality. But this room did not reflect me in the slightest, a cold metal framed bed sat in the corner, a plain oak wood dresser containing my clothing, excluding what was in the closet, the door to my closet was covered in a giant mirror, looking at my reflection everyday, repulsed at what I see. This is not my bedroom…
Walking into the room, slamming the door behind him, turning to lock it, then retreating back to me as I scramble on hands and knees to hide under the bed, only to be ripped from the safety by my straight black hair, dust clinging to my black shirt as my body was forcefully slid across the floor. Grabbing the front of the shirt the man that calls himself my father pulled me so I was almost face to face with him, I was about six inches shorter than him. I screamed, he smacked my face, leaving a big black and blue bruise on the left side of my face, reopening a cut on my lip from yesterday’s activities. He grabbed the back of my head pulling my hair by the roots he pulled me over to the bed; he banged my head against the metal, giving me a black eye.
“You’ve been a bad girl, its time to get punished.” He said pushing me onto the bed before taking off his own shirt and proceeding to get on top of me. And as I lay there, helpless, with out a hope in the world of being rescued, knowing that if I scream again, he will only make it hurt all that more… so I just lay there…. helpless.
When he is finished, he leaves, going down the hall and getting into bed with my ‘mother’ after wishing a final goodnight to my brother, the golden child. I turn on my side, whining lightly from the pain, I get up and go to the bathroom, slipping into the shower, I wash my legs, again whining from pain, I then wash my hair, I put a quarter size drop of shampoo into my palm, rubbing my hands together, then placing them on top of my head and rubbing the bubbles evenly through my hair, the sweet smell of strawberries filled my nostrils. I turned around, tilting my head back and let the water rinse the suds down the drain. I begin to feel wet fall down my face, and not the wet coming from the shower head. I cup my hands over my face in attempt to muffle my cries, I rest my head against the side of the shower, tears falling freely down my face, tears, salty yet bitter from the shampoo, fall into my mouth.
After regaining control, I got out of the shower, getting on a pair of underpants and a tank top. Before getting into bed, I looked in the giant mirror covering my closet door, and examined the damage, black eye, busted up lip, hand print on my face, I lifted up my shirt, there was a big black and blue mark on my stomach, turning around I look over my shoulder and see a big black and blue foot print from when my father walked on my back last night.
Shaking from a sudden burst of cold, tossing my few pillows and a blanket onto the floor I rip the sheets off the mattress leaving it bare for the night I grab my pillows placing them back on my bed, before even attempting to get into bed I wrap the blanket around my small body, entwining my legs into its warmth, I climbed into bed resting my head on the pillow and was soon in ‘dreamland’, Dreamland… noun, a pleasant, lovely land that exists only in dreams or the imagination. In my dreams I was happy, had a loving family, and in my dreams I was never, ever, ever homeless.

The author's comments:
Not a real story, i just have a sick mind.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Mar. 29 2010 at 6:48 pm
loveisblind GOLD, Tenino, Washington
10 articles 0 photos 71 comments

Favorite Quote:
This world, it ends as you believe it to end; yet it'll live on to the actuall end, where then you admit yourself wrong.


Good story. Your writing style is definately unique, in a good way.

keep  on writing!

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