Forever Eternal, plebeau [best books to read non fiction txt] 📗

I used to like to think that if I was kidnapped or stolen, I would never surrender willingly because I would have something to fight for. Something that would keep me holding on until the last breath because that person, thing or whatever was worth the world and beyond to me.

Being thrown from pillar to post, mother to father, from pretty much the day I was born let me know exactly what I was worth; a government cheque with not much money on it. I was kept under whichever roof until I was no longer any use to them and at which point, I would be shoved out the door with a black bin liner of hand-me-downs to the other party for the next year or so. Usually as punishment for whatever wrong I had done such as being born, or not cleaning the cooker with enough blood, sweat and tears to last a life time. Funny but I never thought I would stop crying in the beginning knowing that I wasn't loved or cared for, in the end my tear ducts had been used up until shrivelled and the almost fatal blows to my body didn't bring out the desired effects. Taking my 'punishments' in silence probably didn't do me any favours as the beatings got heavier, almost as if they wanted me to crack. But I think this was the only control I had in my life and I'd rather die first than see the look of intense satisafaction on the faces of the strangers that were supposedly my mother and father.

Truth is. I had nothing. I was alone in a world that should never exist for anyone with nothing to live for, and much to fear. Well I did, but nothing worth a fight to the death. The only thing I ever possibly had, turned their backs on me in what feels like almost a life time ago. My second family turned and walked without a backwards glance and I was left in the aftermath broken beyond repair and willing death to come to deal the final blow to my ever fragile existince.

You see I knew right from day one that the those two perfectly sculpted people that saved me from the life I was living before, would one day realise that I was beyond saving or of any use. I started out as damaged goods from the start, why would anyone want to waste their time with someone like me. They could have picked a prim and proper rich kid with looks that could rival their own but instead they saved me, a run-down, abused, worthless ugly teenage girl with no prospects. Sooner or later karma was going to come back and bite me, and it sure as hell did, right when I had everything I could ever wish for.

But this right here is all I will ever have to join me wherever it is my body will end up. Well, my body will never actually move from this position because no human alive would ever find me here in a world where none exist, apart from me. But that doesn't matter to me, I'll love my new family all the same for as long as I shall live because the life they showed me insured that I would never return to what I had before. How could any one person take all the knowledge and experience I have been blessed with and then return to an average life? I'm almost certain you will agree with me all the way up to this moment in time.

I think this is the right point to start my sad story on. Not everything has a happy, perfect ending and it looks like right now, my story might be one that breaks the usual fairy tale stories. So sit back and read all about the life of Vallery Picket, it might just make for an interesting read.

"Go to the corner shop and get me my fags." Hand thrust in face. "NOW VERMIN!"

Yep. I know the sentence between those two lines looks like a stage direction but that's only because that's what my life feels like. An awful stage play that seems never ending, or at least, not with the type of finish that would raise the audience to their feet in delight with clapping that could leave their hands tingling with appreciation. No. The type of play that only the gruesome people that love a good horror would watch. But I strongly believe even they wouldn't sit and watch the whole thing for it would be too much for them to handle.

I can't understand why I'm thinking of those people when who I should really be thinking about is me and dealing with another task set before me by my unholy and devilish mother. I obviously use the term 'mother' loosely, but I suppose being the person that gave birth to me and grants me one meal every day, she should be honoured with such a title.

I bent forward, crawled across the floor and thrust my hand underneath the sofa to retrieve £6.20 from my mothers secret stash. Only I, apart from her, know of it's wherabouts and I like to keep it that way. You see, I have faced my mother when she has realised money is missing and my backside remembers only too well what my punishment would be if there was a repeat. Although I'm pretty sure the rest of my body would get a good seeing too aswell. Rico, mum's ex-lover, was the wonderful bloke that whisked away £700 from her last 'safe' and managed to point his stubby finger in my direction before he hightailed it out of the city for 'business'. Quite a lot of business I can imagine as that was almost 11 months ago now with no contact since about 9 months ago when the money run out. My mother, however foolish and constantly drunk she is, knew exactly what he did, what he was after and in no uncertain terms told him where to shove it.

I did feel slightly sorry for her as she did seem quite taken with him although that pride and pity soon vanished when her fist collided with my face. Nothing halts love like a broken heart and the only thing left is hate and pent up anger. That is of course, where me, myself and I steps in to become the much needed punch bag and to fill the void until the next man. The next man just so happened to be the scumbag who was currently feeling my mother up in places that left vomit circling my throat.

I shoved my feet into my too small reebok classics, stuffed the money and keys into my jean pockets, quietly shut my front door and started my hasty walk to the corner shop 2 blocks away. Supposedly a corner shop but isn't actually on the corner or even that near where I live. I realise 2 blocks doesn't seem all that large but when there is a long alley to walk through, which manages to stay dark even in the daytime, the route seems forever.

I don't really know why but always five steps before the entrance, I seem to halt in my journey and peer as far down in to the darkness as humanly possible. Around about this time I manage to take a few deep, calming breaths and cautiously tiptoe into the alley. I know it sounds pathetic and really, I've had worse than any tramp or peadophile could do to me, so why do I worry so much about a pathetic dark patch in my journey? Well don't ask me because I really don't understand the logic in my brain. I just always feel like i'm being watched down here which is obviously ridiculous because it's literally only wide enough for one person in certain places. Just everything about it gives me the creeps and then I start to panic and it's really hard to force myself to continue.

If I had a choice in my life, I would walk the long way round but if I don't hurry up, I won't be walking for the next couple of days. At least, not properly.

Deep, calming breaths is all I need. Nothings going to jump out and get me.

The Bogey Man doesn't exist Val, you know that.

Only 10 steps in and i'm completely surrounded by the darkness. Well the quicker I get through this.

I manage to hoble along a bit faster, careful not to touch anything around me incase it moves and feel so much better when I can see the other end.

Something flashes infront of me and for a second, I can't see the light at the end of the alley. Could that of been a really large cat that walked on two legs? Highly plausable right? My breath hitches in my throat and everything in me stops and freezes. Although thinking about it, i'm not just frozen on the inside, my skin is pricking with goosebumps and I feel a cold gust of wind hit me on the outside.

I released my breath and start again, being careful to only follow the pattern of my feet. If I can't see them, they can't see me. I suppose that theory would be great if the air on my right side didn't just blow and leaves didn't rustle not one whole step away from me. This time I wasn't waiting around.

I ran toward the light as fast as my legs could take me and the determination to get to the end pulsed through me. Until my legs tangled and I tripped landing straight on my face.

Reaching up to cup my aching head, I pulled away when my hand felt like warm water was trickling through it. Would be great if it was just water but I could smell the blood dripping from my wound and that last breath was shallow enough for me to realise I was about two seconds from blacking out.

Funny but I can't remember seeing a pair of feet a second ago.