• My earliest childhood memory is not a happy one. It was Christmas Eve my dad found out the truth. He had been loving and caring me for six years now just as a dad should love his child, but how should a father treat a kid who is another man’s. The argument started with a phone call. Mum had not been able to pay the mans silence on time. My eyes were shut my mind slipping when I heard the first curse of the night. Dad swearing, roaring at my mother. I did not know the cause at the time like I do now. Mums retorted screaming. I tried blocking my ears but the sounds crept through the cracks. I ran down the stairs. Mum and dad were stood around the table. I begged them to stop. My dad couldn’t look at me. I wondered why. He grabs my mother by the hair and drags her out. On the walking path he pushes he down and she rolls into the road. She does hear or see the car and neither did dad. It comes like a demon of the night and mows my mother to the floor. Red. A stream of red, trailed along the floor. The driver does not stop. My mothers face dragged and ruined along the floor. My father runs to her side. I feel a tear on my face and realise I am crying. I run to the bathroom. Slam and lock the door. I have heard the news discussing this. People say it helps the pain. I grab my dad’s razor and slit my wrists. I scream. I did not know it would hurt this much, but it works. My senses are dropping. I just do not realize I am dying. I moan softly. Dad breaks the door down. I had not heard his shouts. He skids to my side and holds me close. Gently in my ear he whispers ‘You will always be my baby’ then I slid into the clutches of the ever lasting darkness, but my soul reares on to tell the story.