My mom was 16 and pretty when I came along and ruined the party. I never met my dad, the only thing I know about him is that he gave me brown hair and sky-blue eyes. I'd like to think of my father as a shy, smart guy who likes poetry and foreign movies. In other words, I'd like to think of him as a complete opposite of my mother. Mom and I don't really get along. Well, I mean how can you get along with a woman who destroyed half of the house, when I, at the age of 10 by accident washed clothes with her precious crack insted of washing powder. Yeah, my childhood wasn’t all unicorns and fairies. I guess my point is, I really whish that my dad would have used a condom the night he had sex with my mother. But I guess it’s 16 years too late for that, so I have only one way to not end up like my mom, to get the f*** out of the Sunflower town, MS, where I live now.

6 a.m. on the clock. Kids are waking up to go to school. Me? I am washing my mom’s cheap dresses which she wears to dirty bars to meet my future stepfathers. So far I had four and two who didn’t make it to the wedding. 
-Sweetie, what’s for breakfast?

My mom is all sweet and adorable. She must have had a “great” night with some alcoholic loser or something.
-I don’t know, you spent all our money on cheap condoms and low quality crack.

-Don’t you talk to me like that! You little ungrateful piece of s***.  You judge me all you want, I’ll look at you in 20 years.  You’ll be just like me. Alone and with a kid to feed.
-Yeah, right...
-Oh, please! What you gonna do? You gonna be a doctor? HAHAHA. Go and do your damn laundry.
She lits a cigarette and puts it between her lips. Beautiful lips I would say, if only not so worn out...
-It’s your laundry.
-Do my laundry then. Gosh, you are killing me, kid.
  I hate her. I know I sound horrible, but I hate her. I hate this little wagon she made us live in.  I hate washing her clothes. I hate cleaning up after her. I hate this little town nobody knows about. But most of all, I hate myself.

School sucks and when I say it, I mean it. All those anti-bullying commercials, “Being a Bully is not cool. Together, we can stop bullying” campaigns. Yeah, we don’t have those here. As you probably have already guessed, I get bullied. A lot. They call me Shlut. Why Shlut? Well, my name is Sharon and one time in 8th grade I told my friend at the time, how one of my stepfathers did things to me. That b*tch told EVERYONE. Eventually, the whole school thought that it was me who raped my stepfather. Even now, 2 years after, when nobody talks about “freaky Sharon”, I still get called Shlut. I think, that’s because it is just so catchy and sounds funny. Overall, if I had to describe my high-school experience in five words, the words would be: Pain. Humiliation. Sex (yes, guys still want to have sex with a “Shlut”). More pain. More humiliation. The only thing I like about high school is English class. I get lost in Jane Austen books, I am in love with Shakespeare’s writing. Perhaps, I like reading so much because it takes me away from the reality where I’m an unwanted child of a drug addict and a Shlut.

Yeah, my life isn’t that pretty, huh? In movies they usually give girls like me beauty or brains, or beauty and brains.  Well, needless to say, my life is not a movie. Yeah, I guess I am not the ugliest girl on the planet and I get good grades, at least in English. But well, nothing about me is exciting like in the movie girls. I am plain. Unlike my mother, who can be described as ridiculous, unlike the kids in my school, who are pure evil, I’m plain.

  3 a.m. on the clock. I am wide awake. Just thinking about my life, my nightmare which never ends. Why am I here? In Sunflower town, which looks more like crap than a flower? Why do I live in a wagon amongst drug addicts and prostitutes? Do I really belong here? Will I end up just like my mom? Will I get knocked up by some random guy and then have a baby, whom I’m going to blame for all the bad things in my crappy pointless life?
 

I go to the tiny kitchen/living room/mom’s bedroom. She is not home tonight, so I guess I can watch TV or something. The room is messy like always. Her clothes, someone’s jeans, cigarettes... This room is my personal jail cell. Just looking at it makes me sick to my stomach. Just a though that I’ll end up living in the same rat hole gives me suicidal thoughts.  The TV isn’t working. I’d change the battery on the remote, but we can’t even afford new batteries. What should I do now? Clean the house so my mom and her next loser boyfiend can come in and make a mess again? I look around to find something to do.  Little white bag is starring at me across the room. It’s crack. I take the bag and want to throw it away so I won’t have to see my mother getting high in front of me again. Why does she do it? What’s so great about it? It basically destroys her life, but she just keeps doing it. What’s in it that makes her go through all the crap she goes trough and not stop doing it? I can’t explain why, I can’t explain how but I sit down on the couch and open the bag. I know you are supposed to do it with your friends at some party, experimenting and trying new things or whatever, but since I am basically friendless and overall a loser I’ll snore crack on the couch, alone. Maybe I won’t like it, maybe I will. Maybe this is the beginning of me becoming a pathetic human being like my mother. I probably should stop, throw it away and start crying like they do in the movies. But I won’t. I’ll snore crack and then, maybe I won’t like it, maybe I will.
I feel weird. It’s like someone put a battery in me. I suddenly want to do all kinds of things. I start cleaning, and then I make a mess again, and then I clean again. My head is filled with all these ideas. I’m singing, and dancing, and laughing. For the first time in months, I’m having fun. I don’t think about my mother being a b**** that she is, I don’t think of my pedophile stepfather. I guess, you can say I liked it.

  Someone knocks on the door.
-Open the doooor.
  Mother screams. She had to ruin this moment, like she had to ruin all good moments before this one. Here is one more reason why I hate her. But I decide to not get mad at her and show her my forgiveness. Yeah, crack is definitely working.
I open the door and hug her.
-Oh, I missed you!
-Sharon, something is wrong with you. Why are you still up? GO TO BED NOOW!
Her drunk yell hurts my ears.
  Yeah, I hugged my mother for the first time in years and she screamed at me. How much should you hate your kid to react like this to such a rare hug?  I start feeling angry. I hate my mom. Is is so clear to me now. Before that, I thought I hated her, but I never did. I pitted her, I didn’t understand her, but now. Now I hate her, and my hatred is so pure that I would kill her right now, right this second. I am looking through the room, butt I can’t find the knife. Damn it. She made me snore cocaine, she made me live in this sh*thole, she destroys me. Or already did.  Suddenly, I slap her. Hard.
-Aaah! What the f***?! You b****! I’ll kill you b****!
She beats me.
-Please! Stop!
-Look at me!
She pulls my hair and grabs my face.
-Are you on crack, Sharon?
I know you are supposed to deny stuff like this in front of your parents, but I didn’t.
-Yeah.
-Motherf***er!

It was the hardest slap in my life so far. It was so hard, I fell on the floor and hit my head. She stepped over me and ran to the table next to the couch, where there still was a line of crack. It is pretty funny, that when she finds out that her daughter snored crack, she only cares about how much she has left.

-You f***ing snorted my crack! I’m gonna kill you! You dead, Sharon! I can’t believe you did this! Ohh, you’ll pay.
-I’m sorry...
She stood up, and ran to me.
-I’ll kill you! I hate you! I hate you! Piece of s***! Little junkie! Do you know how much crack costs?! I said do you know how much crack costs?!
-STOP!
I screamed at the top of my lungs, it was enough for me. I scare myself. I really do. Just a second ago I wanted to kill my mom, I desired to see her dead body, lying in front of me covered in blood. I need to get out of here. I can’t live here anymore.
-STOP HITTING ME!

I stood up and ran to my tiny room. I shut the door and let myself go. I cry, and cry, and cry. My whole life was just me trying to not be like my mom. To not talk like her, to not dress like her, to not snore crack like her. But I just did.  Does it mean it’s too late for me? No, it doesn’t. I still can find forgiveness and mercy. But I must get out of here, I can’t breathe here. I get out a big black backpack and throw all the stuff I see in it. As I’m packing, I’m realizing that I don’t have anything to hold on to. No one. In my whole life, I haven’t met a single person who I’d want to be in my life a little longer. It is depressing. But again, I live in a pile of depression, sadness and pain.

-Leaving?
Mom is sitting at the table, smoking. Her eyes are red from crying. It’s not because I’m leaving.
-Bye.

I don’t want to give a speech about how she made my life a disaster. I don’t want to cry hysterically and tell her about my plans. It’s not a movie, where my goal is to get people on the other side of the screen to cry.
-You think you won’t come back? Bullsh*t. HAHAHA. So go on and pretend to be adult but I ain’t gonna be here when you get bored. You just a kid, you can’t do anything! You are stupid silly girl, who thinks she is ready “to face the world”. You’ll end up Just Like Me. HAHA.

-Do you love me?

This question has been eating me for my whole life. I know I “took her life from her”. I know it’s because of me “she has to do drugs to not face reality”. But did she feel something, when she held me for the first time? Did she smile when I said my first word? Do I mean something to her?

-What are you talking about?! You come here and tell me that you leaving and now you ask me if I love you? Are you...
-DO YOU LOVE ME?
I really need to know the question for this one.
-...No.
No hesitation in this “No”. She smiled when she said it, it almost seemed like she felt some kind of a relief. I want to cry but I won’t. I guess, I knew it a long time ago. And yet it still ripped me apart a little. I guess I was hoping for another answer.
-Bye.
I shut the door and left.

It is dark outside. I get to the road and keep going. I don’t look back at the wagon. It’s in the past now. It’s all in the past. I smile. For the first time in ages my smile is sincere. I didn’t smile because of crack, or for the teacher who is suddenly concerned about how I’m doing. I smile because I’m free. I can go wherever I want and do whatever I want. The world is so big and I finally feel like a part of it. I start singing.                                  

                                 
- Some day, yeah. We'll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun. Some day, when the world is much brighter. Some day, yeah We'll get it together and we'll get it all done. Some day, when your head is much lighter...
I’m overloaded with happiness. I can breathe, and laugh, and smile all I want! I’m singing and dancing, and actually having fun!

- Ooh-oo child, things are gonna get easier! Oh-oo child, things’ll get brighter...

I see the sunrise. It’s beautiful. I stop dancing and just stare at it. I’m in love with it. If you think about it, it is my first sunrise ever. I mean as a true person. You see, I think one is not truly alive unless he/she is happy. I wasn’t. For my whole life I was a miserable girl who hated her life and herself. But now I’m happy. I know people will think of me as a stupid girl, who “thinks she can make it”.  I disagree. They are the ones who are stupid. I don’t care what happens next. I don’t care if I’m rich or not. I don’t even care if I die tomorrow if I die as a happy person. And I am. I think the only true point of life is to be happy. Other goals were just created by people who never became happy. But I am. So I’ll keep going wherever the road leads. I don’t have a plan about where I’m going or what I’m going to do in my life. But one thing I know for sure. No matter what I do, I’ll be happy.