It’s happening again. I sit on my rock hard floor, staring at the clock, watching the second hand go around and around. I hear a crash. Glass shatters against the thin walls of this ramshackle one story house. She is screaming some vulgar remark at me about how angry I make her, and how I don’t belong, and how I am no good. Mom gets like this when she’s had too much to drink. Things weren’t always this way. Before my father left, before my mother was an alcoholic, before my brothers and sisters were taken, we were one big happy family. However, when your own dad walks out on your mom to be with another woman and your mom turns to drinking to ease her pain, she unknowingly takes her anger out on her own children, and things change. So here I was, taking cover in my filthy, unclean room, trying to keep from being brutally beaten once again. She’s coming; her footsteps are heavy, her pace quick, and her rage frightening. As she shoves the locked door open with her bare hands, I cringe as if she has already hit me across the face. “Get up!” she shouts forcefully. I hastily stand to my feet, trembling with fear. She slurs some inscrutable insults at me as she struggles to stay upright. The stench of the alcohol burns my nose when she moves towards me, and I try to turn away. That’s when she did it again. She began punching and kicking me until I was forced to the ground. She continues to kick me as I scream out with agony and pray for help. Each strike is worse than the last, and I can tell that she isn’t giving up any time soon. Suddenly, sirens begin to sound, and my mother stops. This is the sound I know all too well. The same sirens rang whenever my mother got angry; the same sirens rang when my younger brothers and sisters were taken from her care. The neighbors must have heard the uproar and called the police again. Just as my mom did only a few moments earlier, two muscular cops bust through the door with their guns ready for whatever they encounter. I have been through this routine many times before. Mom fights with the cops until they wear her down, she is taken to the county jail, and the judge decides whether or not she is the proper guardian for me. After they give her a warning and a month or two of community service, nothing changes and I wait patiently for another one of her outbreaks. It is the same old story over and over again. I cannot go down this road another time; I refuse to read this chapter anymore. I have to free myself from this web once and for all. Without taking another breath, I slyly move past the fight between my mom and the cops and make my way to the front door. It is wide open and practically calling my name. As I glance back at the scene behind me, I realize that I do not want to have a role in this any longer. It is my time to have control of my own life, and this is the first step. I sprint as fast as I can out of the raggedy house and across the yard for good. I can faintly hear one of the police officers yelling at me to come back, but I am too far gone to look back. As I run I see images of the past. I see my father walking out the door when he told us he didn’t need us anymore. I see my mother drinking in the middle of the day to try to keep herself sane. I see my siblings being forced against their will into the police car, weeping for their old mom to come back. I do not wish to be a part of this anymore. My brain blocks these images one by one as my legs take long strides down the crumbling street. I have to keep moving in order to escape this horrible nightmare. I stop. There is a train station ahead. I question if this is the right decision and wish that I had thought this through ahead of time. However, it is too late now and nothing is going to make me turn around and walk back to that terrible past. I march valiantly towards the train station and towards my new life. I clear my throat and ask for a single train ticket. “To where?” the man replied questioning me. “Anywhere,” I said back with newfound bravery and strength. He starred at me for a while as if to figure out what I was up to, but he eventually printed the ticket and placed it gently in my hand. I grasp it tightly in my sweaty palms and board the train without worrying about what I was leaving behind. It is time to stop reliving the same tragic events time after time and start writing my own story. I plop down on the poorly cushioned seat and instantly feel lighter. By leaving my past behind, a thousand tons is lifted off of my shoulders. I can no longer carry this load and it is time for change. I sit back as I hear the sounds of the train taking off along the tracks. While looking out of the dirty window, I watch the trees and birds go by one by one. Like the birds, I am now free. I am in charge of my own life decisions and no one can tear me down. As I continue to reflect on past events of my life I promise myself that I will never let that happen again.