Post by siempreamorb5 on Mar 20, 2006 3:31:22 GMT -5
Haha i'm the first to post a story
Interlude:
It was 2:46am when I was woken by the constant yelling by my mother Selina and my father Lawrence. My dad was just getting home after being out all night. As I laid on my bed, I decided to put my pillow over my head to drown out the noise. After they spent about five minutes of arguing, everything got quiet. I than removed my pillow off of my head and carefully climbed down from my bed. As I made my way to the door, I slowly opened it and tiptoed through the hallway leading to the stairs. As I was halfway down the stairs, that’s when it happened. My dad had punched my mom in the face causing her to fall to the floor with a bloody nose and a busted lip. I gasped almost screaming at what I saw, but quickly covered my mouth not wanting my dad to notice me. I quickly, but also quietly ran up to my bedroom. I slowly closed my door and locked it. I than slouched down in front of my door, dropped my head in my legs and cried my eyes out until I fell asleep.
That was seven years ago. My name is Camielle Selina Lakia Adams, I am now seventeen years old. That night seven years ago was the first time I’ve ever saw my dad hit my mom, but it sure wasn’t the last. For five years my mother Selina tolerated with my father’s abusive ways. He didn’t always act that way, when I was ten years old he became addicted to heroine. And it ruined my family’s life. My mother once did try leaving, but my father wasn’t accepting it. I remember like it was yesterday, November 23rd 9:42pm. My mother came stomping downstairs with bags in her hands as I sat watching TV in the living room. From behind her, my father was yelling, but she just ignored his words. As she walked over to the door trying to open it. He pulled her by her long black hair that was in a ponytail and threw her to the floor. I immediately jumped up off the couch and ran over to my mom as she grabbed her head in pain. I angrily started cursing out my dad in Spanish, “Usted hijo de a perra!” My father started walking over towards me and he tightly grabbed my arm and threw me against the wall. I went flying across the room in pain. As I got up, I saw my mom struggle as my dad tried grabbing her arms. I knew there was nothing I could do, so I ran into the kitchen grabbing the phone that hung on the wall and dialed 911. About two minutes after I made the call, I ran back into the living room to see my dad drag my mom across the floor by her arms. I ran closer and grabbed his arm as I yelled, “Get off her you bastard!” He just continued pulling my mom not paying me any bit of attention, so I spit in his face. He then let go of my mom’s arm and raised his hand to slap me. Just as he was inches from my face, we heard sirens outside. He slowly put down his hand as his eyes widened and he yelled out, “What the **** did you do!?!” I just stood there looking up at him with an evil half smile on my face, thinking that the police would make everything better. But instead, everything got even worst. My father did the most unpredictable thing in the world. He reached over to the side of his pants, and pulled out a small black hand gun. When I saw that gun, it felt as if everything was going in slow motion. I screeched at the top of my lungs, ‘NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” But it was too late, my father had shot two bullets through my mother’s chest. I fell down to my knees crying as I laid my head on my mom’s stomach, getting her blood all over me. My dad just ran through the front door like a jackass, knowing that the police were out front. As soon as he ran out, the police tackled him to the ground arresting him. The last thing I remembered my mom saying before she died was, “I sorry, I’m so sorry.” She repeatedly kept saying she was sorry as I held her hand crying, “I love you” I managed to stammer out one last time. After about five minutes, the policemen along with paramedics finally walked in with a stretcher and took my mom.
I was fifthteen at that time my mom died. My dad is in jail for eight years for murder, weapon poecession, and drug use. He’s been in for two years now. As for me, I was sent to live with my relatives in Atlanta. They were my aunt Kalissa (My mom’s sister) and uncle James. They also have five kids who’re my cousins. The twins are Kemonte and Kalendria, and the rest are Keyonna, Keyarah, and the youngest Kemar. Before my mom die, we would always leave Brooklyn, New York and visit them over holidays and summer vacations. When I moved in with them, I thought everything would be perfect. Loving family, school, and lots of friends. But now here I am, two years later standing over another dead body crying my eyes out. As I start to think of how it’s all my fault, let me take you back two years ago. May 5th, three weeks before summer.
Interlude:
It was 2:46am when I was woken by the constant yelling by my mother Selina and my father Lawrence. My dad was just getting home after being out all night. As I laid on my bed, I decided to put my pillow over my head to drown out the noise. After they spent about five minutes of arguing, everything got quiet. I than removed my pillow off of my head and carefully climbed down from my bed. As I made my way to the door, I slowly opened it and tiptoed through the hallway leading to the stairs. As I was halfway down the stairs, that’s when it happened. My dad had punched my mom in the face causing her to fall to the floor with a bloody nose and a busted lip. I gasped almost screaming at what I saw, but quickly covered my mouth not wanting my dad to notice me. I quickly, but also quietly ran up to my bedroom. I slowly closed my door and locked it. I than slouched down in front of my door, dropped my head in my legs and cried my eyes out until I fell asleep.
That was seven years ago. My name is Camielle Selina Lakia Adams, I am now seventeen years old. That night seven years ago was the first time I’ve ever saw my dad hit my mom, but it sure wasn’t the last. For five years my mother Selina tolerated with my father’s abusive ways. He didn’t always act that way, when I was ten years old he became addicted to heroine. And it ruined my family’s life. My mother once did try leaving, but my father wasn’t accepting it. I remember like it was yesterday, November 23rd 9:42pm. My mother came stomping downstairs with bags in her hands as I sat watching TV in the living room. From behind her, my father was yelling, but she just ignored his words. As she walked over to the door trying to open it. He pulled her by her long black hair that was in a ponytail and threw her to the floor. I immediately jumped up off the couch and ran over to my mom as she grabbed her head in pain. I angrily started cursing out my dad in Spanish, “Usted hijo de a perra!” My father started walking over towards me and he tightly grabbed my arm and threw me against the wall. I went flying across the room in pain. As I got up, I saw my mom struggle as my dad tried grabbing her arms. I knew there was nothing I could do, so I ran into the kitchen grabbing the phone that hung on the wall and dialed 911. About two minutes after I made the call, I ran back into the living room to see my dad drag my mom across the floor by her arms. I ran closer and grabbed his arm as I yelled, “Get off her you bastard!” He just continued pulling my mom not paying me any bit of attention, so I spit in his face. He then let go of my mom’s arm and raised his hand to slap me. Just as he was inches from my face, we heard sirens outside. He slowly put down his hand as his eyes widened and he yelled out, “What the **** did you do!?!” I just stood there looking up at him with an evil half smile on my face, thinking that the police would make everything better. But instead, everything got even worst. My father did the most unpredictable thing in the world. He reached over to the side of his pants, and pulled out a small black hand gun. When I saw that gun, it felt as if everything was going in slow motion. I screeched at the top of my lungs, ‘NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” But it was too late, my father had shot two bullets through my mother’s chest. I fell down to my knees crying as I laid my head on my mom’s stomach, getting her blood all over me. My dad just ran through the front door like a jackass, knowing that the police were out front. As soon as he ran out, the police tackled him to the ground arresting him. The last thing I remembered my mom saying before she died was, “I sorry, I’m so sorry.” She repeatedly kept saying she was sorry as I held her hand crying, “I love you” I managed to stammer out one last time. After about five minutes, the policemen along with paramedics finally walked in with a stretcher and took my mom.
I was fifthteen at that time my mom died. My dad is in jail for eight years for murder, weapon poecession, and drug use. He’s been in for two years now. As for me, I was sent to live with my relatives in Atlanta. They were my aunt Kalissa (My mom’s sister) and uncle James. They also have five kids who’re my cousins. The twins are Kemonte and Kalendria, and the rest are Keyonna, Keyarah, and the youngest Kemar. Before my mom die, we would always leave Brooklyn, New York and visit them over holidays and summer vacations. When I moved in with them, I thought everything would be perfect. Loving family, school, and lots of friends. But now here I am, two years later standing over another dead body crying my eyes out. As I start to think of how it’s all my fault, let me take you back two years ago. May 5th, three weeks before summer.