Stone Cold

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The hard ground beneath is me grating my back as I turn. I lie curled up like a frightened child in my damp, filthy blanket trying to save heat and fighting for comfort where it’s unachievable. The cold stinging my skin until I’m numb and my toes ache and burn. I lie as silent as the dead. In the distance, laughter and sounds of happiness from people pouring from bars and clubs taunts my soul as I lie here alone on these dark deserted streets.

I was only fourteen and mum was spiralling downhill: drinking, drugs and bringing home men at all hours of the night. She was acting like a troubled teenager trying to find herself but blinded by excitement and adventure she was creating every night to the life she already had. It would start as a laugh but always end in a fight and with me picking up the pieces each morning like a slave in my own home I didn’t think things could get any worse, and then he came along. Mum was craving the feeling of wellbeing and this was the closest she was going to get; it made her body tingle like a drug addict forcing heroine through their veins. The night she brought him home I knew he was cruel. He stared at me with his vicious eyes and a sly smile on his face as he walked past my bedroom pulling my mum forcefully behind him like an angry parent dragging a small child. As she looked in to say goodnight I saw the look of shame and guilt in her eyes and from that moment on things fell apart.

He moved into our house in steps and stages. Firstly he left his toothbrush, to use on the occasional overnight but those overnights soon turned to weeks and months at a time. His clothes were starting to appear in the washing basket and before long his belongings overran our home and his personality dominated our lives. Me and mum argued everyday conjuring up words of hatred encouraged by his devious looks. Being forced to think hell was a place called home was pushing me away and the ultimatium came the night I found the door locked and I knew I no longer had a home. The day I saw no remorse in her eyes was the day I knew I had lost my mother.

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There was nothing left to do but get some clothes and pack. As I packed my things everything seemed so insignificant to the life I was about to create for myself. There was no hesitation; my mind was made up and there was no turning back. He and mum were out shopping as I took one last look around the place I used to call home. The house looked so grim and worn and in the brightness of day it felt cold and dark. The walls were closing in on me as I walked from room to room forcing ...

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