*TESTING*

"I just can't do it anymore..." I scribbled in my journal. My bloody knuckles ached with each letter. I was locked in my bathroom, Away from the pain that awaits outside.
He was drunk again.
I could smell it in his breath while he screamed... Never good enough, ugly waste of space, get the h*ll out of my house..
"I just can't."
I had bruises on my forearms. Fresh, New, and dark blue.
There was slamming down stairs. I knew it was a 43 year old man, and an overdose of tequilla. 
This was an average school night. He'd come home, furious, drunk, and uses me as his punching bag. 
"I wan't to leave. I can't stay. I love my Dad. But this is too much."
I had my bag, packed, and stashed under my bed. I clutched my tear ridden book and sobbed. How could I possible sneak out? And risk being abused.. sworn at.. maybe even killed by my own father. 
But one thing I inherited from my recently passed mother: stealth. I gulped in some air and calmed my breathing, getting ready to bolt to my room. I pressed my ear up against the door; It was disturbingly quiet..
There I stood. I stood, waiting. For 2 and a half hours. My toes were pink and numb from waiting, but there I listened. I heard distant snoring.
Now's my chance.
I sped to my room and tossed my bag over my shoulder, and some flip-flops on my bare feet. He was, in fact, dozing on the sofa, with yet another bottle of alcohol. I flew down the stairs, not bothering being quiet if I can make a quick get away. I'm half way down the street when I hear distant screaming behind me.
And even though it's 12 degrees out side in January, I'm in summer clothes, and I have no destination in mind,

I feel accomplished, and a smile speads across my chapped lips.

*Guys, this is just a test. If you like it, please say so.*