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Life?</div>
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My therapist once told me to say the first thing to come to my mind when she said something to me, and when she said life my response was. Hate it. My life is a drag my life is terrible waking up in the morning with a mother depressed and sad, but yet underneath a beautiful smart women who is better than my pa treats her. My pa a drunk, cruel man I could swear he had no soul. Every night I would hear shrieks and screams and the next morning I would see my mom bruised and battered. Every time it would get worse and worse. Eyes blackened, lip busted, barley able to move one of her arms. I know that she knew I knew what was happening to her and I could tell that she didn't won't me to. I would here the bathroom door open and close when the screams stopped. Then the water would begin to run and that's how I would know she was in there. She would stay in there for as long as she needed to and paint her face with makeup to hide her scars for him.</div>
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One day after school as I walked up the stairs to our small but cozy apartment I heard screams of death coming through the walls. The apartment was rattling the walls shaking. I knew exactly what was happening and I was tired of it. I through my book bag down full of rage that had be within me forever I ran in the house and tackled my dad to the ground. I grabbed the nearest thing to me and swung. Over and over again I landed with a blow to his head. I fainted around 20 swings. I awakened in an ambulance, I looked down at my hands blood everywhere it looked as if I went swimming in red paint. I then looked to my side and saw my mother looking right at me. Her beautiful blue eyes watery from her crying, her rose red checks soaked. Yet I could see a smile of joy underneath of all of her sadness. As I looked into her eyes I knew everything would be alright.</div>