My Life - Original Writing

My Life - Original Writing

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My Life - Original Writing

I am woken up by a loud bleeping noise. It's the truck picking up the
rubbish left outside the kebab shop. I get up and stretch as my legs
ache from being curled up al night, trying to keep out the cold.
A cat brushes himself against my leg and sends a shiver up my spine
like the one I got when Jason was screaming at me for not telling him
I was going to be late from work.

It's a Sunday morning and I walk down the deserted street looking for
somewhere to have a cup of coffee, I only have eighty pence on me
which isn't enough for a bacon sandwich so I'll have to settle for a
coffee.
The church bells ring and the town women, all dressed in black and
navy blue, stand around the priest like bees round their hives and
congratulate him on the wonderful sermon and invite him round to their
houses foe tea and biscuits.

I walk into a shelter for a bite to eat, this place is warm and has a
cozy feeling even if I don't know anyone here.
I stand in the queue and wait to pick up some tomato soup, coffee and
a piece of bread. Further on along the queue there are two men arguing
over the last cranberry pie. That takes me back to the rainy, humid ,
terrifying night that I ran away. My face starts to sting as I
remember Jason Slapping and shaking me. The hot coffee spills over my
hand making me jump back to reality, the volunteer apologizes
repeatedly for burning my hand.
I grab my tray and walk over to a deserted table in the corner of the
room, I sit down and pick up a newspaper that is left on the chair
next to me. This paper is full of greasy oil and smells like fish and
chips have been eaten of it. My attention is drawn to the headline
'Young woman abandons 8 year old child for street life' I read on and

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am horrified by what's written. This makes me sound like an uncaring
mother when it should read 'Battering husband drives wife away'.
I pick up my spoon and dip it into the soup as I raise it to my mouth
soup drips over the sides and onto the tray, the soup is cold and
makes me repel the spoon out of my mouth.

I sit on a park bench and watch two boys play football; I watch them
closely as they run with the ball mimicking a football reporter.
A television in the shop opposite grabs my attention. As I walk over
to the window, I see Jason and my family on TV making a report about
my disappearance. I think to myself, 'how can he act so innocent and
convincing when its his fault I'm here in the first place!'.
A tear runs down my face as I see my son on TV hiding from the
photographers and flashing cameras screaming out 'Mummy, I want my
mummy'. I press my hand against the glass and say 'I'm here baby,
mummy is here', my skin stats to crawl as he is carried off by Jason
and I'm left shouting out for someone to stop him.
As it starts to pour I look up at the sky and open my mouth letting
the fresh rain run down my face, wetting my lips and into my mouth. I
walk down the street while everybody around me runs like if they were
being pursued by feisty pit bullterriers, leaving me alone in the
street.

I stroll to the alleyway where I will stay for the night. I set up
some cardboard boxes that I can lay on, I walk over to the end of the
alleyway and lean against the wall as I watch the moon shining down on
me.
Its too early to go to bed, so I go for a walk. I stop at a bridge and
look down at the sea flowing under my feet. I think about everything
that has gone wrong, all the abuse, the hatred and dirtiness in our
relationship. My stomach turns as the images keep repeating themselves
in my head. I climb on the rail, the breeze blows my long brown hair n
front of my eyes. I take a deep breath and lean forward when suddenly
my sons image comes into my head making me jump back onto the
pavement, I cant do it but not because I'm a coward but because I'm
not prepared to let Jason win.
I sometimes think about calling my parents and telling them I'm
alright and although they will try to convince me to go back home, I
could never go back to him. I couldn't carry on living that life of
nightly torture. There is still time for my son but not for me, it's
too late. I can never go back.

A couple walk past me laughing, kissing and hugging taking me to the
old, happy times before the beating began. A mans strong cologne makes
me drift back, he steps out of his red Mercedes in a clean white
shirt. Carrying a large bouquet of roses and smartening himself up.
I tuck myself up for it's going to be a long night; I take a piece of
bread out of my pocket which I had saved, and start to nibble at it
like a mouse. It has gone hard and has a dry taste but as I'm not
spoilt for choice, I will have to settle for it, for this is my life.
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