Mother, Sister

Sequel here!

So, when I was a kid, like 9 years old, my mom had moved in with this dude who had two children, one who was a few years younger than me, the other a few years older. I was a heavy-set kid, but I wouldn't call myself fat.

So pretty much, this girl who was like 12, who was tiny, would always push me around and call me a, "Fat ass." Now, I was trying to be a gentleman, but this girl was such a jerk to me. I never got any attention from my mother when I was a child, and still don't, but she pampered and coddled this girl so much, that it drove me mad.

I wanted to end my life, because this girl was so mean to me. My mother never believed me and would always yell at me for trying to get her into trouble for no good reason, and the girl would always begin to cry, which would make my mom hold her and glare at me while she did, which made me feel ashamed. My mother made me apologize to her every time, which made me believe that it was useless to tell her.

It hurt me so much, that I stopped eating all together. Since I was always in trouble for making her cry when I tried to talk to my mother, it was easier for me not to eat. I enjoyed the pain, because I kept telling myself that what I felt when she treated me badly would never be as bad as starving myself. My mother never noticed me starving. She was too busy coddling that girl. But this was the day it was going to change.

One day when my mother had sent me to my room for trying to talk to her, I stopped caring. I casually walked down-stairs, into the kitchen, and grabbed every single cereal box from the cabinets. I watched as they all stared at me. It felt so good to do something you weren't supposed to, and I savored every moment of it, slowly picking each and every cereal box and putting it under my arm. This whole time, smiling at each and every one of them. I watched the rage in the girl's eyes: she absolutely hated me. I turned with about 5 cereal boxes under my arms, stood in front of the table where they were all eating, and only chuckled.

I turned my back to them and began walking toward the stairs to go back up to my room, when I felt a sharp pains cycle through my back. The girl had jumped up from her seat and had begun slapping me with all her might, which mind you, wasn't very much, on my back. I turned around, grabbed her by the shirt, and pulled her to her chair and sat her down, the whole time my mother and her boyfriend, and his 6 year old son watching.

I thought that this was going to show my mother how crazy this girl was, but then the girl began to sob. My mother's face changed from being dumbfounded, to pure rage toward me. This caught me off guard, for she also jumped up from her seat and began to drag me toward the kitchen, where she grabbed a wooden spoon and began hitting the top of my head with it as hard as she could, which was much worse than the girl's. I was soon unconscious, laying on a bed, in an institution. My hands were handcuffed to the top, and there was a doctor sitting on a stool next to me.

She was a very kind woman, something that I wasn't used to. She asked me this, "Hey there, bud. You feeling okay?" I nodded and went to rub my head, but couldn't. She asked me how my head had gotten so beat up, and I told her that I had fallen down the stairs. What she said next, caught me off guard. "I don't think that's true. Your mother said that you had tried to attack them, and that when she was keeping you off of her, you had fallen and hit your head on the island on the way down."

My heart went cold. I turned away from the woman, and said quietly, "Go away. Leave me." She persisted asking questions, to which she did not receive a response. I spent months institutionalized, where the woman would always try to ask me questions. They replaced my handcuffs with softer ones, and moved them to a more comfortable location.

There was one small thing, though, and it was that where they had put the handcuffs, where on a very loose part of the bed. I formed a plan in my mind to escape, and one night, finally executed my plan. Since I was in Maine at the time, I decided that I would try to escape to Canada. Remember, everyone, I was only nine years old. I was so scared, but I knew it had to be done.

So, on a Summer night, I waited until I was 100% positive that everyone had stopped moving around. I jiggled my cuffs, ignoring the pain of my chafed wrists and how sore they were from being locked for almost six months now, they pulled the pieces off of the bed. I rubbed my wrists, which were covered in blood and were badly bruised, and rose from the bed. The sudden head rush sent me straight back, and my legs felt as if they were about to give in. Legs cramped, I waited a few seconds, and tried to rise again. My legs felt as if they were on fire, but I took my first steps in a long while.

Since my room was on the first floor, it was alot easier to escape. The only problem was, when I managed to break through the window with the pieces of the metal bed-frame attached to my cuffs, an alarm went off throughout the facility. I dove through the window, and heard someone saying over the intercom, "There has been a window broken on the first floor, send someone down immediately. Someone could have, or may have, escaped." Too late, I was already out and running, in my patient gown and handcuffs with the metal bars, legs on fire.

I ran through the woods, close to the road into the institution. After about 3 minutes of running, I had to slow down to a jog, for my legs were in so much pain. I had finally made it into my town, which, surprisingly, very close to the institution. I was still in the woods, and I was looking out onto the street. I saw at least 7 police cars driving by in the couple of minutes I had waited, most likely looking for me. I took my chances and ran across the street after a police car had driven by about 15 seconds earlier. I knew the way directly to my house from where I was in town, and decided to pay one last visit to my home before escaping. I quietly walked up the driveway, and looked into "her" window.

I saw my mother, laughing and smiling at the girl. They were playing a board game, my board game, my collector's edition Star War's Monopoly one. I watched them for a couple of minutes straight, and watched them finish their game. I then watched my mother pick up a lighter, and melt all of the plastic off of the board into a Pyrex bowl. She then dumped all of the characters into the bowl, and let it harden. Her and the girl started to laugh, hysterically. That's what was scary. She then began to rip the board to pieces, and burning them, one by one.

It was then that I heard a police car pull up behind me and turn on its high beams and sirens.