Nameless

Hey there. My name is Zoe Aberdeen, and this is my story. You're probably not reading this so you can hear my sob story, or so you can see what I did to solve my problems in life. Chances are, you're only reading this so you have something to do with your time. simply so you aren't bored. I don't care. I'm not writing this so you will care about me. I know far too well that it won't work. No, the reason I'm writing this is because my guidance counselor told me to. She thinks it might help for me to get my thoughts out on paper, but like most of what she recommends, it's probably bullshit. Anyhow, you probably want me to stop talking and get on with the story, so here it is.

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1. One - Torture

Torture

    Yawning, I wake once again to experience the torture of everyday life. Uncovering my head, I'm momentarily blinded by the bright sun streaming in through the window of my bedroom. Slowly, I notice an annoying beeping sound coming from somewhere in my room. It takes me a few seconds to realize it, but it's my alarm clock. Staring at it, I scowl. It sounds almost as if the damn thing is laughing at me, just like everybody else in this crummy world. Yawning, I get out of bed and get myself around for the day, not bothering to even try to find something matching. It wouldn't matter if I wore a beautiful dress around, people would still ignore me.  Slipping my shoes on, I exit my bedroom and head downstairs. Entering the dining room, I find the usual scene - an empty table,  cluttered with empty beer cans, a sink full of dirty dishes, and something a little less common - a beer stain on the wall and shattered glass on the floor. sighing, I grab my backpack and jacket from off it's hook beside the door and slip outside. Strolling along the sidewalk, I keep my head down, knowing there are people I'd be better off not even looking at. Slowly, I make my way to school. 

    My daily torture went as usual. Ignored by 80% of people and picked on or assaulted by the other 20%. During lunch I sat on my own in the back corner of the cafeteria, nursing my bruised chest. I'd had my usual run-in with the kid who'd made it his job to beat the shit out of me daily, and it had gone exactly how he'd planned. He'd deliberately tripped me on my way to class. He then began kicking me and saying I deserved it, which I probably do. As usual, nobody offered me a hand, as they probably don't even see the girl curled in a ball on the floor being kicked repeatedly in the stomach. Nobody cares about the girl sobbing in pain on the ground. All they care about is going through with their own daily lives. They don't care about those they consider beneath them, not even their own siblings. I once watched as a kid here threw his brother to the ground and started punching him, yelling at him for being late. I even saw a 3rd grader sitting outside the school on a bench for hours by himself, waiting for his brother to pick him up. My best guess was that his brother had left by himself, leaving the 3rd grader all alone with no way home. If the kid tried to walk home by himself, he would probably be hit by a car, kidnapped, or mugged. Maybe even all of the above. By the end of the day, I had to limp home due to another student who decided he wanted to hit me as hard as he could in the back of my knee with one of the school's hard plastic lunch trays. 

    I deliberately made my way home as slowly as possible, knowing what was going to happen upon me getting home. Most of the time I would come home to my father sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch in the living room, either drunk or high as fuck. Sometimes both. At this time my mother would still be at work. As usual,  just me opening the door seemed to piss him off.
"That you Zoe?"
Knowing better than to respond, I quietly make my way towards the stairwell, attempting to sneak past him. However, it doesn't work.
"Where the hell do you think your going?!
Turning, I see he's gotten up from the table, a beer in his hand, and is standing half-way between me and the stairwell.
"Just to my bedroom Dad. That's all."
"No you ain't. I need to talk to you, you filthy bitch."
Reaching behind him, he pulls my phone out of his pocket, holding it up so I can see it. I had been looking for that since yesterday, and now I knew where it went.
"I found this sitting on my table yesterday, and I took the liberty of making sure you weren't saying anything bad about me. Which you were."
"W-What do you mean?"
"It says -hic- right here: 'Pissed as fuck right now. Asshat Mcgee decided to throw rocks at me today.' "
"I-I I wasn't talking about you Dad! I-I was talking about our neighbor down the street!"
"Bullshit! You know good and well what I do for you, and in return what do you do? You talk shit about me? You are the most worthless piece of shit in the world, you know that? Nobody cares about you, not even your mother!"
Knowing it'd be useless to continue to try to avoid the inevitable, I stay silent.
"I try time and time again to make you listen, but you don't. But now I know why. It's because you're such a fucking cunt that you don't even know the difference between an insult and a compliment!"
I go to speak, but am abruptly cut off by a beer can hitting me in the chest. I crumple, feeling like my chest is going to explode at any moment,
"Y-You know what?! You have 20 minutes to pack your stuff into a suitcase, and then if I so much as see you, I will make you wish you'd died at birth!"
Gulping, I get myself to my feet, shaking with pain. A quickly as I can, I limp up the stairs and gather my things into my only suitcase,   shuddering. I hadn't expected this kind of thing, but I guess I should have. It was bound to happen, especially since nobody cares if I live or die anyway. To be honest, neither do I.  

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