Standing in front of me is a familiar bricked box-like building. Curtains are closed in each square paned window, concealing what lies within, and the paint on the door which was once red is now slowly chipping, and crumbling away. The limited space of the front garden is enveloped by a variety of weeds and thistles, leaving the path barely visible.

Home crap home.

My eyes wonder the decaying house. The place I call home. The place that is hell. Flashes of memories flood back to me.

I'm six years old, and I'm sat in my bedroom, hugging a teddy bear my mother brought me. Loud crashes and shouts can be heard from downstairs.

It's my father. He's drunk again.

The racket goes on for hours, but I don't move. I don't close my eyes. I'm too afraid of what will happen if I do.

Heavy footsteps thunder up the stairs, echoing through the house. The pounding grows louder until it stops outside my room. I stare at the door, knowing he's just outside.

Not bothering to knock, he flings the door open, revealing his drunken state to the six year old me. His hair is dishevelled, and his clothes are creased. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin is eerily pale. His left hand is bruising and there's a small amount of blood - he probably punched the wall again. In his right hand is a photograph. A photograph of my mother.

His piercing gaze searches my room, before his empty eyes land on me. Grief and anger flood his features.

"You!" He yells, striding towards me, clenching his left hand. "You caused all this! You're the reason she's dead!" He throws the photograph at the wall next to my head. The glass smashes, now distorting the picture of my mother. Her smiling face, brown hair and green eyes stare back at me disfigured and disjointed.

I did this to her.

It's all my fault.

I shiver. Each day has been the same. Constant reminders that I ruined my family. That I inadvertently killed her.

My mother.

I'm now thirteen years old and I'm alone. It's dark and I'm scared. I wave my hand in front of my face, but its invisible - consumed by the darkness.

I'm in the basement. My brother and sister thought it would be a great idea since my father is out.

"Addison! Isaac! This isn't funny, please let me out!" I cry desperately.

"No! You deserve it!" Addison's voice screeches. "You killed our mother!"

"Besides" Isaac calls out, "it is pretty funny to us!"

Hours. That's how long I was stuck down there. After the first hour, I gave up trying to convince them to let me out - I knew they wouldn't. By the third hour I was beginning to feel anxious. What if they forgot about me? They wouldn't actually do that would they?

Four hours.

Five hours.

Six hours.

By the time they let me out the sky was dimming. They both spare me a disgusted look before muttering "pathetic" and sauntering off to their rooms.

"Oakley?"

A voice jolts me out of my memories. "Oakley? Are you okay?"

It's Alo.

Funny how within a space of a few minutes a strangers voice can become so familiar, and recognisable.

I turn to him and give him a weak smile, murmuring a "yeah" before turning away again. A single tear escapes the confines of my eye, before being forcefully brushed away by my hand.

A cold hand makes its way onto my shoulder. "It's okay Oak." He whispers awkwardly, attempting to make me feel better.

After a few moments he asks softly, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah." I reply. "I'm ready." And we both begin the short trek towards my front door.
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Edited: 27th July 2015