I never thought it would come to this. I gazed miserably down the cliff face, my tears still making a steady incline down my face. Why had my life gone so terribly wrong? Why did no- one love me? The questions reverberated in my head, bouncing mercilessly against the walls of my cranium, making deafening mute sounds that echoed in the most painful depths of my soul. It would be so wonderful just to die and go to a serene tranquil place where I could rest in peace. A place free from my mothers constant screams and volatile behaviour not to mention violence…

It was no good, what would happen to my three-week-old baby sister? She would just continue to get abused by the person I hated most in the whole world- my mother. If I left she would have to fend for herself, which meant finding food and defending herself against my witch of a mother. I currently stole a pint of milk for her every week from the supermarket (I could now steal with great dexterity). Defence wise I have always cleaned her cuts and disinfected her grazes, all given to her by my mother of course; I also tend to throw myself over her as a shield to my mothers relentless beating to the baby.

I suddenly felt forlorn, who would bath my sister? I could not leave her; I was her lifeline, her saviour. On the other hand my mother (who had almost driven me to suicide) was a vile creature who was seldom sober. She thirst for blood and enjoyed given beatings; she had a very volatile temper and her hobbies were pounding her children until they faint. She believes that all people should be God fearing and that you will go to hell if you are not.

I sauntered shakily back to the house where I was greeted by a muffled wail from my baby sister Rebecca; I ran over to her and comforted my teary sister caressing her face. After scrutinizing her tiny sodden face a little more carefully I observed that fact that she had deep gashes on her face and that she had a gag. I angrily and anxiously untied her gag as quickly as possible and washed out her gash all the while rushing. Time was always of the essence in this household; my mother would be back from the pub soon. I winced when I saw the trail of blood down her sheets. My poor little baby! …

A sharp slap brought me to my sense as my mother glared down at me. Here face was contorted with rage and her expression was one of intense disgust. I must have fallen as sleep with Rebecca in my arms.

"William, you little brute, you will perish in hell," she screeched, I sub consciously observed that my sister was on the floor, her face was slightly blue and her body lie lifeless and almost rigid. My heart plummeted and I recall that I have never acted so quickly before in my life. It was if I was in slow motion, as if nothing I would do would be quick enough. I performed the mouth to mouth desperately breathing into her tiny lungs I pumped at her chest. "Come on baby brea…" My mother who smelt potently of alcohol stopped me in mid sentence. She seized my neck with her sharp alarmingly claw like nails before collapsing on the floor (probably due to consuming more than adequate amounts of alcohol).

But at the moment, my mother was far from my priority, as was the swift and copious flow of blood from the cut that her nails had formed on my neck was. No, my sister was the most important thing to me at that moment and forever, the one who kept me going. I anxiously continued to attempt to revive her.