This is not finished yet...jus sayin'...so....Enjoy VHAT I do have!
The room was so cold. The hard granite floor I laid on felt like ice. Silence filled the room. One would think a quiet surrounding would be a peaceful way to wake up, this is not so for me. I feared if I opened my eyes I would see the black silhouette of my father standing over me, just waiting to take my life. I exhaled steadily then forced my eyes open. Luckily nothing was there just an empty doorway that directed strait outside. I sat up and look around at what I call my house. I don't have a home I have a house. A grey shack made of old and broken down wood. There was the washer and dryer ,that stop working long before I was born, against the wall to the right. A pile of laundry baskets filled to the roof with dirty clothes, ripped stuffed animals, and trash and against the back wall. I sat on a flattened blood stained pillow. I pushed myself up, my body ached with pain. A broken home ,physically and emotionally, was normal for a fifteen year old in the 41th century.
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