2001-01-31 03:42:24 (UTC)

**** Just to let you know, this..

**** Just to let you know, this is a story i wrote
for english, and this girl isnt supposed to be me, (THANK

I stared at the man blankly, he sat staring back, giving me
a concerned look. The scarcely lit room was small, with one
gray table in the center and two chairs. He sat in the
left, I was in the right. I sat slumped in my chair, one
elbow casually leaning over the back of it, cigarette in my
left hand. I shifted my eyes toward my right hand,
realizing my nail polish had chipped….
“I think that the last thing you need to be worried
about young lady, and put that out, your too young to
I flicked the burning cigarette onto the floor and
smashed it with my black Doc Martins keeping my eyes level
with his.
“Do you realize the severity of what you’ve done?”
He said, leaning onto the table and staring straight into
my eyes.
“What do you mean, ‘What I’ve done.’”
“Well, your boyfriends dead.”
“Um...you mean ex boyfriend.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened, because
your’e going to be here all day until you do.”
“And why would you think I killed Mark?”
“Well, for starters,” he said. “Your fingerprints
were on the gun, plus, Ms. Williams, Mark’s neighbor, saw
you enter the crime scene…need I go on?”
“Please do.” I replied.
“You know what happened, you tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I said, playing dumb.
“Fine, then please explain how your fingerprints
got onto Mark’s gun.”
I stared down at my hands again, ands saw
the deep purple scars on my wrists remembering the first
time my father hit my mom. He had been drinking and he
came home late. My brothers and sisters were sitting
watching the television, and playing. We saw him walk in,
storming into our home.
“Janet!” He screamed.
“Mommy’s up stairs.” Said my baby sister, not
realizing what was happening.
“Janet! Do you… have dinner ready?”
At the time, I was nine, my littlest sister, Shelly
was four, Brittney was six and Brian was thirteen. When my
little sisters heard the screams and saw mommy fall down
the stairs with a bloody nose, they stuck their little
heads under the covers and I comforted them. Brian, who
was brave yelled at our father to stop, but at that point,
his squeeky voice was drowned out by the sounds of my
fathers mumbled yells. From that point on, the same types
of situations happened every night. We had no idea what
happened during the day since we were all at school. But
mom would always have more cuts and bruises than she had
when she dropped us off at school. After five years of
taking the abuse, my mother finally called the police and
my father was put in jail. And I vowed to myself never to
let something like that happen to me… look at me now.
“Are you listening to me?” he said, interrupting my
My head jerked up.
“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” He
asked frustrated.
“Do you think I have a perfect little Brady Bunch family, I
think not. Ya, ok, you obviously think that I’m some
druggie who doesn’t understand the difference between right
and wrong. I do, and I am right.”
“Right about what?” he said, interrupting me.
“Can I finish? Do you think Mark was a nice guy, I don’t
think so, would you like me to show you my bruises?”
“No, no, we’ll leave that to the Department of
Social Services.” He said, jotting down words on a yellow
pad of paper.
“I am only 16 years old. Today, I put on my lip
gloss and jeans, thinking I would have a normal day at
school, then you people show up, pull me out in the middle
of Algebra, and bring me to some police investigation. I
know what you want to hear, that I killed him because I
felt like it. Why the hell would I kill my boyfriend of
three years for no particular reason? And no, its not
because he flirted with every girl that breathed. What do
you expect me to do when the love of my life pins me
against a wall and attempts to pick me up by my neck
because I talked to my friend, might I add male friend, in
second period. How was I supposed to explain to my mother
that my boyfriend gave me a black eye because I wouldn’t
change the outfit he didn’t like? Please, put me in jail
for defending myself against a gun. Yes, that was the
first and only time he tried to use a gun you want to know
why? Because I tried to leave him. Tell me sir, what would
you do if someone held a gun to your face? All I can say is
thank god he missed. Please, investigate his apartment,
you will find a hole in the wall where he fired, to the
right of the couch, next to his Limp Bizkit poster.
Please, talk to his neighbor, ask her if she heard a shot,
then a few screams later, another. Oh, and also, look on
the body of my ex boyfriend and you’ll see one shot fired
at him, one, not two, three or four, but one, please tell
me, how one shot can be called murder, and by the way, I
aimed for his arm.”