A Boy Named Scorpius
A Boy Named Scorpius
Chapter 1: Story of my Life
Hello my name is Scorpius Malfoy, I'm 10 years old and my life is a living hell.
"Astoria! God Damn it Astoria! Stop spending so much money on wine!" Father screams from the kitchen. I hear a crash, and my mother starts to stammer drunkenly at him. Then there's a loud smack and my mother stays quiet. This is all normal. Another smack, and I hear someone hit the floor, then a soft cry.
Yes, this is all normal. I'm hiding under my bed. I'm trying to hide again, to block the sound of the screams and cries that are steadily growing louder. I stay hidden under my bed, close my eyes and wait for the screaming to stop. I pretend I'm one of the boys in my class. I have a bunch of friends around me. Their all smiling as we kick a small ball around the field, like I see them do at lunch. I'm about to kick it in that big net when my father's voice brings me back to reality.
"Were the hell is that boy!" Father shouts, I hear him walking down the hall. "I'll give him a peace of my mined."
"No! Don't hurt Scorpius! Please," I hear my mother say. Maybe she's not drunk after all. My door opens and I see my father's worn out black dress shoes, scuffed up and broken, crash into my bedroom. "You better get out here now boy." He threatens in a low growl. His feet walk over to my closet, that was my last hiding spot. He yanks open the door, nearly ripping it off it's hinges, and starts throwing my cloths on the floor. "God damn it! Get out here right now or it's going to be worse than it will!" I don't move a muscle, I don't even breathe.
Now I see my mother's small baby blue French heels walk in as she says, "Draco, Scorpius… went out, with his friends." She's lying for me. I know she's not drunk now; she never cares when she is. "He isn't home." I want them to leave, my limbs are getting stiff and my left arm's asleep, but I don't dare move.
"Why are you lying?" Father asks but it sounds more like a statement.
"I'm not lying." Mother replies even though her voice is shaking, "Scorpius is not here." The room goes quiet. I can hear my heard beating loudly in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. I just know I'm about to get caught when my father walks over to my desk and starts looking threw my school papers. He's messing them up, crumpling them, tearing them, letting them fall to the floor, what would he care if I got an F in school. Then he lets out a dangerously low growl, "What the hell is this?" I know immediately what he's talking about.
Flashback:
"Alright class," My teacher had said, "I want you to write a paper about your life, your family, moms, dads. Brothers and sisters? Wright at least 5 sentences, then share with your tablemates. You will be turning this in for credit at the end of class."
I had looked at the other kids at my table. A black haired boy was whispering to two redhead girls. They were obviously friends. No one noticed me, so I began to write.
Story of my Life by Scorpius M.
Most of you will be writing about daunting mothers, embarrassing fathers or annoying siblings, and when it's you're turn, you'll stand up and tell us all about them. Over all you're life is pretty normal. Then you'll site down and pretend to listen to the next kid who will have written something similar to yours. Not me. I will be sitting here and listing to all your stories, and envy you for having such wonderful lives.
My life, in my house, you have to hide to survive. My mother is an alcoholic. She is constantly drunk, and when she's not she's too scared to care. She wasn't always this way. Up until I was 6 she acted the way a mother should act. She woke me up in the morning, took me to school on time, made sure I was clean and had food to eat. That was before my father lost his job. That's when he started hitting her. After about a week, she started drinking. Couldn't handle it, I guess. Ever since then beer bottles have trashed our house. When something would go wrong, father would punish me. I try to tell him it wasn't my fault, but he never listens. After a wile you get used to it. It's almost like a game, get home from school, hide in your room, run when he finds you. Like hide and go seek, you don't want to get caught, even though you know he'll always find you. I used to cry. Cry for some one to help, someone that cared. But they never came, and they never will, because no one cares and no ones coming. Now all I cry for is the end, for it all to stop. That's what it all comes down to isn't it? The end. When it's my turn to speak, I'll stand up and say I didn't do the assignment. I won't read my work. In fact when all of you are turning in my papers, I'll be stuffing mine in the deepest part of my bag. Never showing it to anyone, because if I do, the end will come. And it's not the kind I'm hoping for.
End flashback.
It was supposed to help us make friends, instead it might kill me.
"Were is that boy." Father said murderously. "He went and told his hole class!" I hear a ripping sound. Peaces of white notebook paper fall to the ground. There goes my esay. "When I find you, your dead." He says to the room, and then I see his worn out dress shoes leave threw the open door way. 2 minutes, 3 minutes, 4 minutes, 5. I crawl out from under the bed and look at my mother.
"Oh Scorpius, he didn't mean it." She stumbles over to me tripping over her blue heals, "Just let him calm down a bit. I know he loves you, just give him time." I look at my mother, her blond hair is, which is usually greasy and tangled, tucked neatly behind her ears. Her blue eyes looking at me clearly and alertly. I was right, she's not drunk. Mother gives me a huge that lasts about a minute. When she pulls back she gives me a sad smile and says "Just give us time." Then she's gone. Some how I felt like I would never see her again. In a way, I was right.