Mudslide

I remember being told when I got older that pretty face like mine, couldn't possibly come from a place so dark. That it just wasn't possible, society had led everyone to believe that pretty faces were perfect. Pretty faces were what the world strives to become.

I'm Mudslide. I’m sure you wish what I was about to tell you was light, however, the story I'm about to tell you isn't at all in fact. I can promise you, my past is what shaped me to be who I am today, but it isn't for the faintest of heart. When I was five years old my father left. It drove my mother beyond insane that often times I would go to bed without food, and if I even thought about asking for food, I'd get beaten. She'd remind me that I was lucky to live here, that without her I'd just be living in some half-house for abandoned children, because nobody would want me. Why would they?

I still peed the bed like an untrained dog(ironic considering), and I hardly went to school - she wouldn't let me. She used to lock me in my room for days on end sleeping away in her bed. She'd tell me she did it to me because she wasn't feeling well, she didn't want to be disturbed. When I did go to school kids would make fun of my unkempt self. Call me names because of my rancid smell. The teachers noticed too, but they never really said anything and if they did, I'd get a lashing when I got home, and then I'd be locked away again with nothing more than a bottle of water to keep me alive like some caged rodent.

By the time I was eight years of age, more people started to notice the growing of bruises on my body, and the dark shadows under my eyes, I disappeared too - for a whole two weeks. That's when the cops showed up at my door. That's when people really started to care. My mom was taken into custody, I was brought to a home. Scared by others touching me because every time they did I'd flinch preparing for my next beating as it had already been wired into me. Momma was right. I was placed in a half-house for abused unwanted children, but she'd been wrong about someone not wanting me. They did. The bathed me, fed me and even gave me clothes that fit. It didn't take long till I got adopted, well, I would have liked to have gotten adopted. I was only fostered, and when mom got out - I got put back with her like the system didn't even care what would happen to me this time.

Another two years went by in her care, she seemed a little better, she was on some new medication, and sometimes she'd have a spell or two where her hand used me as a target. She seemed smarter about where she hit me this time too. Out of the public eye. Where the clothes I'd wore protected me from being taken again. I'd get to go to school this time. She'd tell me she wasn't raising no uncultured swine. Said I was too ugly to be married off, so smarts would have to be the best thing I could give my future husband. I'd come home with homework and you could see the rage on her face. Homework meant I didn't have time to do housework while she sat on her ass and did nothing. So I'd wake up extra early for school to get it done just in time.

When I had finally made it to high school I met a nice boy, he showed me kindness even when I was afraid to trust. After all all I had know was deceit. The system had put me back with the very woman whom had traumatized me my entire existence. We dated at least a year before momma found out, she called me a whore, and every name from the book she could come up with. He was my first, my only. I was locked away again. This time, officials really noticed and again, I was taken away. This time for good, or at least I thought it was for good. I was moved to someplace where I'd be placed with a foster family for the remainder of high school never to see the one guy who had made life seem okay, even if for just a short time.

I had, on my days of school found books to read that explained how plants worked. I felt like a real world poison ivy - although I could not have houseplants with my current living condition, it didn’t stop me from learning their ins and outs.

The new family was nice. I had a little sister to play with, even if I mostly kept to myself. She'd sleep with me when she got scared - it felt nice. It wasn't a feeling I often felt, love was it?

I had finally turned seventeen and I was at the top of my class, none of them knew fully what I had overcome to get this far my battles of life. As much as I’d like to say this is where my story ended, on a happy note - I would be lying.

Eventually I’d be old enough to be out on my own, working as a waitress - sure, a dead end job for someone whose talents like mine were growing. I’d find myself living in a low-end apartment, riddled with plants, good - bad, decorative. Until one fateful night someone broke in. In a fit of fury, and protection for my plants - I defended myself with everything I could. In the end, someone ended up dead; the stench wreaked of my mother, and as I stood over the dead body, i could tell that’s just who it was. She’d come for me like some loose end she had too fix up. I needed too get out, and I’d end up running for my life. I ended up in another random place, to disoriented to tell; bleeding still - my own as well as the blood of another with nothing but the clothes on my back.

Tired from the running, and from the wounds that hadn’t yet had time to heal, I could feel my body wanting to drop - the voice inside my head screaming, begging that I go farther. As i slowly fell to the ground, visuals fading I could see one shape and one shape only as it clung to my body, everything inside of me going limp. I don’t remember much in between, aside from waking up in a bed, clean and wounds tended too.