The diary of a Runaway

Chapter one: The Slash of the Hand

I cowered, shaking violently. The hand drew back, whipping my face as it swung forth. She drew back and forth several more times, before releasing me. Blood trickled down my bruised face, staining my cheeks. Feeling relived that dad wasn't back from the pub. Silently, I picked myself up and turned around; suddenly I caught a glimpse of my mother eyes. She had no guilt inside of her, just pure hatred and anger. She simply looked at me in disgust, then spat at my feet. I dragged myself upstairs watching the blood drip, drip, drip onto the carpet. I shunted my bedroom door open in frustration, feeling the tears soak my face. Collapsed in a heap on my bed, I dreaded the questions that were going to be asked at school tomorrow.

A chink of sunlight was peeping through my curtains into the bedroom, gathering my ragged school clothes I felt my cut around eye. It was really ugly; realising the time I shot down the stairs; grabbed some old mouldy bread to butter and a glass of stale water. Dad spends so much on beer we never can afford any shopping. I crept out the house trying not to attract any attention from mum. The air blew into my painful face soothing my skin, bright sky and a smiling sun; it was the best sight ever. The outside has always been a haven for me, the brown crispy leaves float about on the floor scattering everywhere. You see their free, free to fly and glide where ever they want and they also have some many friends. I don't have friends, just people who enjoy staring at me!

Walking to school is my favourite part of the day, there's no evil parents, no laughing school girls, just me and my mind. As I walk into school I can see all the school girls sniggering at me and the parents whispering behind my back. Mrs Gladstone marched outside and demanded we got into our lines, shivering I jogged into class line 6SJ I was near the front of the line because my name is Charlie, Charlie-May Beech. When I reached my classroom I pulled out my tatty school books which were practically bits of scrap paper then I dug deeper in to my rucksack and hauled out of few blunt pencils. This should do, I thought to myself. My lunch box was tatty and ruined with a few peanut butter sandwiches alongside a juice cartoon.