Scars - Original Writing : Scars

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Scars If you were to meet my father for the first time, he would seem like a joyful and energetic person, but after talking to him and getting to know him you will be very glad you are not in his life. With him, I know that people are not all they seem to be. One afternoon, I came back from school and surprisingly he was not in the living room so I just scurried off to my bedroom to undress. All I know is that he just barged in the room and began to scream out my name. I came out immediately and I sense the fury in his eyes. He asked me why I did not come to greet him and I said that he was not sitting in the living room when I came in so I implied that maybe he was out to the nearest grocery store. He looked around the room hastily and at last, he found a blue ruler that he himself bought for me my first day of attending school in America. He raised the ruler and demonstrated for me to fold my hand and he striked me on the tip of my fingers. There was a sudden arching, burning, and throbbing pain on my fingers it was unbearable. I am growing up in a household were fear runs very deep. The father whom I lay on as an infant is slowly teaching me the meaning of hate. Now it goes from me to my mother. It is a constant cycle. In the morning, my mother will take me to the bus stop to school. I dread the thought of coming home at the end of the when I know that he is going to be home because I know that it will not last even if it starts normal.
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