Young Writers Society

She turned back to me but gave the door one lingering glance.

Finially

starred

becasue

because I had to eat, she had to eat, and even him, he had to eat too

"I think you should go too, Janalise."

st8and off

I'm going over to a freind's

Dear Diary,

First of all please understand that this was not my choice. I did not want you, but you were forced upon me by mother and her wish for me to keep a documentation of my life while living in this hell hole of a country. That is all. And if I didn't love mother as much as I do then I wouldn't even be writing this right now.

So, now that we have that straight, welcome to my life. I hope you can handle it. Years of teenage angst and pathetic attempts at rebellion. Have fun carrying the lot of it within your pages.

Right now I'm on the plane with this lame excuses for a father sleeping next to me, Gerald actually, because I don't call him 'Father' or 'Dad' anymore these days (That sentence didn't flow well with the commas). Things change, you know? I used to call him Father but a lot can happen in five months, and I do mean a lot. Too much actually, and "Father" is just Gerald to me (Again; this sentence doesn't make much sense here the way it's put together). I guess now I'm not "son" to him either, just Ten. Then again, that's only fair and it's fine with me. Yes... it is...

Anyway, we're on our way to Italy, quite a change from London if I do say so myself. I'm going to be the only British bloke there. Wish me luck, Mother, and hopefully I'll be seeing you soon.

Ten Sauna

August, 19, 2011

Five Months Earlier

The sound of a plate crashing against the floor and angered voices rising with frustration were painfully obvious (Three descriptors in this sentence; each could be used interchangeably. Pick one.). I couldn't hide it anymore, no, not like I could laugh suddenly and obnoxiously (Two -ly words used right next to each other; usually a writing foul) to cover the sudden burst (as opposed to a not sudden burst? It's assumed) of noise when one of them raised their voice too loud and drew her attention. My face flushed red and she turned towards the bedroom door, her eyebrow raising with the start of another question I'd have to answer with a lie.

"I'm pretty sure I heard something, Ten," she mumbled, biting her lower lip in a troubled manner. I laughed it off again, or at least tried to, but ended up having to cough to cover the crack in my voice.

"I'm also pretty sure it was nothing. Come on, we have homework to do," I pressed. She turned back to me but gave the door one lingering glance (as opposed to two lingering glances?). Finally she sighed and turned to the algebra papers sprawled on my bed in between us. We were just getting back into the swing of things, and I was just getting into believing they stopped - a foolishly hopeful thought -, (Random comma?) when another shout erupted from downstairs.

"I fucking hate you, Gerald! Why do you always do this to me?"

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and onto my face, moving to the tips of my ears and nose. Janalise gasped and stared at the paper harder than she should have. She was uncomfortable, I could tell. Hell, I was uncomfortable and those were my parents arguing down there. More crashes, the delicate sound of glass tinkering against the tiled floor, an anamalistic growl, and then silence, the scariest sound of them all. I froze.

"Ten, I think I should go." (Who says this?)

A sudden shout. Anger. Hostility. Hate. More broken (breaking?) noises, clutter and trash collecting on the floor. Red droplets of blood beading on mother's split lip because dad hit her again (Fragment). Dad's face screwed up in anger, as if this was mother's fault when in reality it was his - it was always his. Her body quivered in terror and his shook in anger becasue she pissed him off (Very repetitive; it's not as if I'd assume someone shaking in anger is not pissed.). She'd (Remove the "'d") close(d) her eyes now and turn away from him, wanting the fight to be over.

I can see it, all of it, inside of my head. Playing back in high definition and stereo surround sound (Stereo is two speakers. Surround sound is 4 or 6. There is no such thing as stereo surround sound. Well, there is, but it's not what you want XD. At least I assume so.).

She'll try to finish dinner now, despite the cuts and bruises, but that will make dad mad. He'll think she was ignoring him and grab her by her thin arm, turning her around forcefully. She'll lower her gaze and he'll narrow his. His hand goes up and comes back down with a loud smack. A red hand print stands out on her pale face. It starts to fade away under her tears.

(The switch of tenses really doesn't sit well with me. I'd keep it all in past.)

"Damn you!" (Who is saying this?)

"I think you should go too, Janalise."

She hurridly collected her papers and smiled apologetically. I could tell she was truely sorry. I don't know why, (This is the perfect place for a semicolon. right here. I'm totally feeling it.) it wasn't her fault mom and dad were fighting again. I hoped they would not choose today to initate another stand off, the one time out of millions that I actually had company over - even if it was only to finish algebra homework - but my luck was never good. She started towards the door slowly, in a way that I knew she didn't want to go out the front and possibly cross their path. She turned back towards me, her lip captured again between her teeth. I sighed.

"There's a back door, just go down the stairs and make a left. There's a door that leads out to the garage there."

"Thanks, Ten! See you at school?" (She feels awfully happy in this situation)

"Sure, yeah." Probably not.

She left without another word, which I suppose was only for the best.

Mom picks herself off the floor soon enough to hear the garage door close. She'll think I just got home and hurries to clean up the mess. She'll ask dad to get a broom and sweep the broken glass away but he won't. Dad goes in the room with something along the line of "clean it yourself, bitch" coming from his mouth. Mother chokes back a sob and sweeps the mess by herself, quickly, because she knows that I should be in the kitchen soon.

(Again, just keep in in past. It's easier to read.)

"Ten, honey?!" (Who says this?)

"Yes," I call back.

"H-how was your day? Are you upstairs?"

"My day was fine, and yeah, I'm in my room."

She'll sigh from relief and slow her frantic movements. Her tounge will prob her split lip as she thinks of a way to cover it.

"Dinner will be done in a few minutes, okay?"

"You know, Mom, I'm really not hungry."

She'll stare in the boiling pot with sad eyes and sigh before turning off the burner and walking to the guest room to sleep, once again, alone. (Just a thought; what sane wife that is being abuses sleeps right after a fight?)

I know everything that goes on with those two, though they don't realize it. They never see me peaking around the corner and they never notice my quiet whimpers when dad hits mom. (They don't realize he sees them yelling and hittin in plain sight? If not in plain sight; make it so~) They never see though my lies, never realize that when I say "I'm going over to a friend's" I actually mean "I'll be right upstairs, listening to you two bicker" (Understatement?). They think I don't know(,) but I do. I know all too well.

My parents are breaking up. (I realize you put this in a new sentence for effect, but it just feels choppy; put it together with the sentence before it)