Spoiled Brat: Difference between revisions

I swear to god that I am not insane. Go ahead and read my story. You might think I’mI'm insane, you might say I’mI'm insane, you might swear and believe with all your bleeding heart that I am insane. But I’mI'm not insane. I had a good reason. I always had a good reason.

Before I start the story, I’llI'll give you a brief history of my life story.

I wasn’twasn't born in America. I was born in another country. My mom and I came to America when I was three. As an Illegal, most of my rights were taken away and it wasn’twasn't even my fault.

When I was six, my mother married my stepfather. He was an American so thanks to him, my mom could stay in America. He wasn’twasn't a bad guy to my mom. He was nice to her. It was me he was always an ass to. He worked days while my mom worked nights. After school, I was left all alone with him. My mom knew he kept beers in the fridge.

She never counted them and if she did, she would only assume he drank one a day. Every day there was one less beer can in the fridge than there was the day before. That’sThat's because he finished a six pack or more a day. At the ripe age of 6, I had to take my bike and a cooler to a corner store two miles away. The man at the corner store knew my stepdad.

He sold me the six pack without ever asking any questions beyond ‘How'How are you?’' or ‘How’s'How's school going?’' I only smiled and said everything is fine. When I got home, my stepdad would punch me and tell me to go clean something somewhere else in our tiny apartment that didn’tdidn't need cleaning while he gambled with his buddies. My mom sometimes caught sight of a bruise or something once in a while. I told her what my stepdad told me to tell her: I fell.

I hated school. I was always made fun of. I think it was because of my clothes, I always wore big coats and scarves to school. I didn’tdidn't want anybody my bruises or scars. I even remember that time in fourth grade where he successfully managed to pull out a big chunk of my hair from my scalp. It didn’tdidn't bleed too much and I could have just combed over it, but he grabbed some kitchen scissors and chopped up my hair. I told everybody I gave myself a haircut all by myself.