This is a story i wrote for my english coursework, thought i'd share with u guys...well here goes: My name is May, I come from a broken family and this is my story. It happened the summer i turned ten, when things went wrong. I woke up that day to the sound of dishes falling onto the floor, I could hear my mother's screams and my father's voice shouting. I was only a child then so I was startled by the noises that were coming from the kitchen. I didn't know it at first but what i saw would later change my world forever. The scene unfolded before my eyes; all i could see were broken plates and glass scattered across the cold, linoliuem floor . My father was holding my mother by her neck, making her gasp as his fingers tightened around her neck. My father's face was red with anger, i could tell he was drunk as well as empty cans of beer were discarded on the floor. My mother's eyes widened as she saw me standing alone in the doorway, I saw silent tears running down her face. Once was so beautiful, she looked like a russian porcelain doll, but now she was battered; black and blue bruises covered her face, her upper lip was cut and a fine, steady flow of blood was trickling down from her mouth. Wispy tendrils of her hair came undone from her neat braid. My eyes grew misty as her face sunk into my memory. My father began wringing her neck, shaking her with so much force, I was scared her head would fall off. That's when i made up my mind, 10 years old or not, I had to do something to help. I ran towards them, aware that with each step I took, a shard of glass cut into my feet; bloodied footprints staining the cold tiles. I winced with pain but I was determined to help my mother so when I reached my father, I didn't hesitate to sink my fangs into his leg, causing him to drop her onto the floor. She dropped like a rag doll and passed out from exhaustion and I felt his hand grab the neck of my pyjamas. My father shouted at me, spraying droplets of saliva onto my face, which I wiped away hastily. He then gave a slap around my face, so powerful that it left a burning, stinging sensation on my cheek. He let go of me and stormed out. I didn't see him again. I remember after he left, i crawled towards my mother, scrambling into her arms at what was left of my security. Spraying tears over her face, I cried silently, I was only a child then, I didn't know what to do. Eyes barely open and her voice raspy, she comforted me by humming a lullaby from my childhood. My eyes filled with tears again. My father whom I'd always thought of as a good person and a loving man now seems to be a monster and had transformed before my very eyes. My love for him slowly dissolved, and with that love, a seed of hatred was in its place, planted in my heart; growing bit by bit as the anger and hate caused by my father's actions towards my mother consumed me and now a long chain of ivy was wrapped around my cold heart replacing the love and warmth that use to be. I lied when I said I didn't see my father again, I did in fact see him on two separate occasions, the first was at my beloved mother's funeral.... He'd changed over the years since i saw him last, gone was the thick black glossy hair, a thin receding gray line was in its place. Dull brown eyes accompanied by huge black shadows,his cheeks were thin to hollowness, cheekbones jutting out. His mouth set in a grim line. A ghost of his former self, a proud man he was but now just an empty shell, barely surviving. I could tell he suffered over the years, a strange thrill ran through me, a moment of glee even. The ivy tightened its chain around my heart. I gazed across towards my father, seeing him make his way towards me, his hand holding a single white rose, its petals white as snow. I turned my back against him and braced myself. I shuddered as his hand touched my shoulder, i shrank away and looked at him in disgust. My father pulled his hand back quickly, he looked to the ground an avoided my burning eyes. I ALMOST felt sorry for him, i really did have the urge to comfort him, but i held myself back. Tears threatened to spill, as my vision became blurry. Rubbing my eyes furiously with the back of my hand, i told my father to go, 'Mother doesn't want you here, not after everything you put her through'. His dreary eyes widened with guilt and remorse an i could see the faint dim light disappearing, his spirit was broken. He backed away from me slowly and placed the rose upon my mother's coffin and disappeared into the crowd... dun dun dun....lool Thats it for now...will update later on tho.... so feel free to leave comments....
since when did ppl have to write stories for coursework, i always thought it was essays. but oh well. btw u spelt 'broken' wrong and i thought that it was best to always write stories in third person rather than first.
we had to do essays as well but this story was for the creative writing coursework..so yea... thank you...guna update a bit more now...
lol...its a good idea....i'll see if we got time to do it then we try lol.... but which part do u want filmed?
U need to describe the exciting bits more, lol more blood and gore, such as , she grabbed hte knife and stuck it right between his eyes, and then dragged it up, leaving trails of blood dripping on the floor, and then she ripped his head apart or something more blood and gore!
phil you are weird.... stick to your "Sam Cup Pien"! it was a good story May, but it sounds so much like a lot of tragic stories.... just being honest >___<
