Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘abuse’

Seven deadly sins V2.0

I’ve been nominated for ‘The lovely blog Award’ a second time. o.0 What is this? It has to be a conspiracy! ~sedatives and rubber room now on standby~ I’ve only ever been this popular with -bullies-! (Thanks Brooks)(V1.0 here)

Okayiess, I will used the cursed no. 7 again for facts but I’m gonna have to skip out on nominations this time (sowwies guys, there’s a lot of you I’d like to nominate but my brain’s in protest mode so trawling through the list of blogs I follow is a bit much right now.)

1) I’m as nutty as I seem, but I hide behind friendly, shy politeness until I’ve reeled in my prey. >.> <.< >.>

2) I was a grammar nazi. Once. Then I discovered how fun it was to bend the rules. 😉

3) I have had to be escorted of a property for my own safety.  The flatmates that my ex and I lived with were drug abusers. We had already had the police out on several occasions but one night he flipped out and tried to come through the door. By this point we had barricaded it and I was sat behind the door with a carving knife like a good soldier’s daughter.

4) Same housemate, earlier on in our stay. Tried to burn me in shower by suddenly raising the boiler temperature (the kind of boiler it is will cause scalding burns too!) I simply pulled on my robe, marched to the kitchen, and turned it down right in front of him.  Next time he was in the shower I pulled the same trick. It never happened again.  This was just one thing in a long line of harassment.  Never Piss Off an Aussie.  We stand our ground and we mean business.

5)  I migrated to the UK with only £1000 pounds to live off.

6)  I lived in a hostel for almost half a year above a club on Brighton’s busiest party street.

7)  I lived in a house without a working shower/bath, a toilet we had to flush with a bucket, and no working central heating in ENGLAND. Rich country, huh? Bullshit on that count, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve shared a room/flat or lived in abusive situation because of lack of a living wage; a problem that still existed when I was working 50+ hours a week.

Yeah, I’m a tough nut(ter).

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Runaway

one-tree-hill

This piece has been inspired by the photo prompt.  I have borrowed it from Picture it and Write. After 5 edits I finally got it down to only 5 words over the upper limit. I couldn’t actually bear to cut any more out. I got to the point where I felt I would lose impact rather then improve the story.  As always, please feel free to leave constructive criticism.

The Runaway

Abby huddled into the scavenged blanket. Wet from the rain; it was ice. Abby huffed into her palms, pleased with futile warmth. A discontented glance at her woollen hat informed Abby that tonight would be spent in the shelter. Abby daydreamed of hot showers and warm rooms as the pennies winked mockingly under street lights. Her ‘earnings’ were barely enough for a hot drink…

It was a wretched lifestyle. In a bitter realization Abby knew it wasn’t miserable. Misery was living with Her. Abby choose the freedom of uncertainty over oppressive manipulation; infrequent, random harassment over certain abuse. Unbidden, the memories stirred; smiling faces from before Her time taunting Abby. She imagined her brother, Callum, looming over her. Ah~ now I’m hallucinating. “I found you,” He said. Is he crying? Callum’s strong arms settled around her wet shoulders with her sense of reality. “Come home. Pa is worried.” He was so warm. Abby’s resolve snapped.

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