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Thursday, January 6, 2011

Lucy B. In Your Own Words

A lot of the teens I talk to have a well-developed creative side. For many, creativity is an outlet for the pain they suffer through. For some, that pain stems from abuse, an addiction, depression or just a sucky situation.

Writing has been a gift for me not only because I am talented with my words, but because it is a way to share my life as I heal. Most of you know what I am talking about.

I would like to introduce you to some of those talented writers that I am proud to call "friends."

Lucy B. is one of those phenomenal writers!

Take a look inside Lucy's world.

"So, what are you wearing for prom?" asked Sofie.
"I told you, I'm not going, I don't like wearing non-sleeve things, and we all know the dresses are strap dresses," I lied.
The real reason I wasn't going is because my dad had forbidden me to go to any social events. I didn't wear short sleeved things because it showed my bruises from dad hitting me.
"Well, wear a cardigan then!" she suggested.
"Sofie, I'm not going and that's that!" I snapped.
She looked at me, shocked and then looked away to check the bus times.
"Sorry," I murmured.
I thought I heard her utter: "it's okay," but I must of being hearing things. Anyway I was too deep in thought about how I would attach the new lock I bought onto my door wondering if it would be stronger than before. Stronger than the one dad broke when he wanted to come in. I told him I was drying my hair, but he didn't care. He wanted to hit me again. Then, when the door opened, the lock fell to pieces. Remembering what he shouted at me, and the way he looked at me, pur hate in his eyes. I couldn't help but let out a little whimper.
"Natalie, Nat, are you okay?" Sofie asked, cautiously.
"Yes. No, it's just-" I stuttered, before Sofie (surprisingly) butted in.
"Listen, if you’re having flash backs about the car crash with your mum, then that's okay. I understand, but don't cry. You know it makes me cry too!" she said, shaking me softly and giggling.
"No, no it's just my dad, he-" but before I could finish the bus had arrived and Sofie was chatting up the cute bus driver.
"Come on Nat!" she shouted from the double seat. "I got us seats by the window!"
I skipped on and acted normal, well, as normal as any teenager could when they were being abused by their parents.
After a few minutes of butt aching bumping up and down, we finally arrived at my stop. I said ‘goodbye’ to Sofie and muttered a quiet 'thank you' to the driver and started trudging down my road. It was a long walk from my bus stop, but dad said I needed the exercise, so he only gave me enough money to get to that stop.
When I finally got home I found dad snoring like a pig on my bed. I shook him gently to wake him up, but it turned out he wasn't in such a good mood.
"What did you do that for, you stupid cow?" he shouted, grabbing my arm and twisting it. Hard.
"I wanted to. Ow! Dad you're hurting me!" I exclaimed.
"Good. You’re a stupid, selfish ugly waste of space! No wonder your mother killed herself!" he yelled, twisting my arm harder.
"What?" I hissed, a little too meanly.
"You! You drove her to suicide. She drove that car into a river because of you!" he growled, letting go of my arm. "She couldn't breathe, the water was rushing up her body, like this," and he started from my hips and went upwards, then stopped at my neck. "And then the water went into her mouth, and then there was no more breathing for her. Like THIS!" and his hands closed tightly on my neck.
I couldn't breathe. My own father was strangling me. But surely he wouldn't kill me, would he? But then his hands left my neck and went back down to my hips again. He pushed me onto the bed so I was sitting on it, then he sat down beside me.
"I'm sorry. I'm a silly idiot, can we hug?" he said.
I nodded slowly, but it was more than a hug. He pulled me down so we were lying on the bed, and then his hands started sliding up my top.
If you have a story/poem/journal excerpt you would like to share, email me @

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