The teacher walked into the room and the entire class went silent, like a TV had been put on mute. The teacher walked round the class to check where everyone was up to with their work. She towered over my desk.
“Simon, what on earth do you think you’re doing? She bellowed, which seemed ironic to me because when she had left everybody else was talking.
“Nothing!” I replied in an angry voice
“Exactly, and why is that Simon Alex Reed?”
“Because I think this work is a load of crap”
Everybody gasped and exchanged astonished faces at the thought of what Professor Booth would do next; even she was shocked at what I had just said.
“ Oh really well how about you take a trip to the Emergency Work Room or you can shut up and do your work.” She exclaimed with a certain satisfaction that I’d shut up. I did not say anything because the last time the school phoned home my dad went spare and started hitting me, that was only last week.
I walked through the door and there my dad was standing with an angry look on his face and the smell of alcohol on his breath. I can still remember the yells of my mother, Lisa, telling my dad to stop.
There was only a few seconds left until the end of class, and then suddenly the bell rang with its usual ear-piercing screech, which made everybody rush out through the main door like a herd of buffalo being chased by a band of Sioux Indians we’ve been learning about in history. History was my favourite subject. Before I could walk out the door professor Booth pulled me back and said, I think I will call your parents,” she said putting on a fake caring voice.
“No!” I shouted, then ran out of the school so fast I nearly knocked over a crowd of smokers at the side of the entrance. I walked home as slow as possible in the freezing rain. My heart was pounding at the prospect of going home to that drunken fool who had received yet another phone call home from school, which gave another reason to beat me up.
I reached my house, which was located on the outskirts of Manchester. I could see pale red bricks and old-fashioned tiles, which were poorly designed to prevent water seeping through. The garden was laid out with drooping flowers round the edges of the grass. The gate was made with rotted wood that reminded me of a farm. Quite frankly it looked a real mess.
Script
Simon walks into his house with his head to the ground hoping his dad wouldn’t notice the door slam shut. He puts down his backpack and looks up at his father standing beside him.
Alan: Got a call from school earlier. They say you’ve bin misbehavin’. Is this true true Simon? Well, is it? (Shouting with a bottle of vodka in his hand.)
Simon: Course not, they’re j-just makin’ it up. That Professor Booth’s got it in for me. (Face to the floor)
Alan: Don’t you dare lie to me! I’ve had it up to here with you. (Making his hand level
with the top of his head) Was that what’s his name, Mr Adams makin’ up stories when I got a call last week?
Simon: Yeah, they’ve all got it in for me.
Alan: I have heard quite enough lies for on day, thank you very much. (Alan pins Simon up
against the wall by his shoulders)
Simon: What do you think your playin’ at? Get off me you drunken old fool!
Alan: Don’t give me that attitude boy or you’ll find yourself with another thick ear, living on
streets with no home.
Simon: Just because you lost your job last month, doesn’t mean you can take all your anger out
on me
Alan: You wouldn’t know the first thing about losing a job when that’s all I’ve done since 16
years old, or for that matter raising a family. (He smacks Simon in the face)
Simons mum, Catherine walks in carrying her briefcase
after her day at work
Catherine: What on earth do you think your doing Alan, put him down at once. (Catherine puts her briefcase down)
Alan: You’ll never guess what he’s done now (through gritted teeth)
Catherine: What?
Alan: He’s gone and got himself into trouble at school so they’ve had to phone up.
Catherine: Go to your room Simon, your dad and me are going to have a little chat.
Internal Monologue
“I wish I was somebody else. Why do I have to be me? I’m getting hassled at school and bullied at home. This isn’t right it should be the other way around if anything. My Dad used to be alright until a couple of months ago when he lost his job and went on the dole. I can’t believe it’s come to this.
Why does he have to beat me up on the slightest thing I’ve done nothing wrong? It’s the drink; always drinking all the time he is .I feel so scared when I walk in my house, so afraid. Sure, my Mum tries to stop him but what can she do. One time she got hit in the process. I wish that she would divorce him before he does something he’ll really regret.
The next time that man hits me I’m running away, far from here. He’s not my father any more. whenever his drunk he looks at me with the most treacherous eyes which would make my heart beat tremendously fast as I think about what he’s going to do.”
