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STORY (Stimulus Etc) "FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!" I shoved past the shouting crowds, pushing my way through, sliding past their hot sweaty shoulders. I walked past briskly, clutching my blazer in one hand and my bag in the other. My upper arm scraped against the bark of the tall oak tree, peeling away the fragile skin on my bare elbow. I turned double checking in case anyone was behind me, anyone following me to my house, the house of all my worst nightmares. Two more houses and my nightmare starts... The square paved concrete slabs aligned perfectly, the square hedge trimmed immaculately, four rectangles of frosted glass implanted into the clean red door, the shining letter box and keyholes... "DING, DONG" I rang the doorbell scared of every consequence that might approach me after this action. While I waited I rubbed my eyes and wore my blazer. My mother opened the door "Hurry up and get into the house!" she exclaimed, shoving me into the house. I entered into the lobby and removed my shoes leaning them against the wall. ...read more.


Everything she asked to do, I did. "Has everything been done you dog?" She asked as I hoped all my work was over, "Yes," "Good go to your room and don't show me your ugly face again or I'll give you a whipping you will never forget!" I ran up the stairs to get away from the horrible noise. My only escape was dad's room; my room. I pushed hard on the stiff door, "BOOM" the door banged open; dust and cobwebs ran down my throat making me cough. I entered slowly, still uneasy on my trembling legs, my room was simple, a small single bed tucked away at the end of the room, and dad's painting desk. I left all his things the way they where it reminded me of him. I loved him and still do. I was 6 years old when he died, I can't remember much really but I can remember all the love he gave me. On his desk sat his paintbrush. The beautifully crafted, painted maroon, fine wooden paint brush, fitted with thin fine layered beech bristles. ...read more.


All together they read: Guardian Angel, I belong with you, on the clouds I lay, waiting and waiting, call me for I will answer. The poem reminded me of dad and his special way of putting things. I stared into the mirror repeating the poem over and over. It was amazing, catchy and has many meanings. The door clicked, mum had come back early I hid under the bed; her footsteps thudded up the stairs. "Get up NOW I know you're in here you rat!" I got up slowly and sat on the bed drifting off trying to avoid her voice and the useless words that where being thrown at me. I felt new, I was stronger than before, much stronger as if I had the strength to stick up for myself to my mum; my abuser, the person who ruined everyday of my life. "Are you listening?" She shouted. "Yes I am!" I shouted back and exited the room, thoughts of angers circulated within my blood all around my body. I went downstairs, the abuser followed "BANG"... "Hurry, she's gained conscious!" A police officer hurries into the room, staring at me, I lay there on the sofa trying to re collect my thoughts. Mum lay in front of me dead... ...read more.

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