Hey, guys! I had another idea for a story and here it is. I hope you like it.
Prologue;
Some people say red is the color of passion, I disagree. Red is the color of my blood. The blood that I shed when I made a simple mistake. Red is the color of abuse. The abuse that I had to endure every day. Red is the color of torture. The torture that I'm forced to deal with. Lastly, red is the color of my father's eyes. The eye's that are blood-shot from his excessive drinking. As you can tell, red is no friend of mine. My dad never beat me before, he never touched a brown hair that stood on my head. It all started two summers ago when my brother, Chase, passed away. It was when my dad turned to alcohol. I knew he started drinking because of the pain, even if he denied it. My mom couldn't stand him anymore so she decided to leave one night, leaving me with him. It was the first summer that he started threatning me and telling me it was my fault our family fell apart. He wouldn't come home for two days and when he came home, he yelled but he still never hit me. Then the second summer came and it changed my life completely. My father hit me for the first time. He'd been drinking the whole day and I spilled some of the beer he had, I made a mistake, he didn't like it. He apologized the next morning, crying. My dad held my hand as he said, "that will be the first and last time that happens." But, he was wrong. It was the first of many times. That's why I'm sitting at this bus stop now. I finally had the courage to leave, even if I didn't know where I was going to end up. I climbed on to the bus and wondered what was going to happen to me. I had nowhere to go, I had no one to run to.
I don't know if I going to continue it, I just wanted to get the prologue down, because I'm proud of it. So, if you want me to continue, comment it!
