My Names Aubrey Griffith, Pretty much a basic teenage girl. I have, well after I take two hours to straighten and style, pin straight fire red hair. As you could guess, I have heard the endless amount of jokes on it. I have a pretty plan body. Im skinny, but im flat as a board; both ways. Yeah, I never hear the end of that either. I have hazel eyes, which change with my mood. My best friend Darcy says im like a mood ring. She and I have been to the Abyss and back. I go to Franklin Smith High School, which is your basic stereotypical Prep-o-holic school; Im in the middle of all the chaos. I’m really friends with everybody, despite the fact half the people in my school would rather walk of the empire state building then walk into a store like Hot Topic. It’s like Shark Tank. It’s pretty pathetic. Im pretty shy, I might seem like just a normal girl. In the beginning of it, I was…..


I grew up in a city called Syracuse, New York. I grew up on Campanelli Street with my Mom, Dad, and just me. It was like one of those little television shows from the 80’s, you know? Like where you see the mother cook dinner, the father gets home from work at his big car business on State Street, and the sweet angel of a daughter walks in from the living room, and accidently knocks over a glass, but everyone laughs. And without the corny clothing, the fake smiles, and its not in black and white, that pretty much was my life. I loved it; Up until that one fateful day.

I came home from my last day of 8th grade. I had “The Gloomy’s” because mom and dad didn’t come to my 8th grade graduation like they had promised me. As the yellow school bus slowly strolled up to the corner of my street, all the kids hear sirens. I wasent sure what exactly was going on. I thought maybe there was a car accident, or maybe the Campbell’s got into another fight again (may I remind you we lived in a very weird neighborhood). But as we came to a slow stop at my house, I felt my heart drop right down to my stomach as I see plastic yellow police tape round my old fashioned eggshell colored house. I get off the bus to be immediately knocked over by police officer, as he runs across the lawn, attempting to find a stretcher. All I can see are blinking lights, ambulances, police cars, and neighbors. I couldn’t honestly hear anything, as my ear drums were being pumbled by the loud shrieks of the sirens. The bus pulled away and left me there to just stare wide-eyed at the Chaos that looked like I was at the State Zoo. I felt like a 1 year old, as I took my first step, then a second one. I slowly started to walk towards my door; I ducked under the yellow tape, and kept walking. It felt like I was Gandhi, Walking the Salt March. Once I think about it, it was, with no doubt, the longest walk I’ve ever taken. I finally got to the door. I just stood on the newly cemented steps, as I stare blankly at my door. It was closed, and I wanted to open. But I felt like my brain was disconnected. I couldn’t move a muscle. My whole body was shaking. I had no idea what was rearing its ugly head behind my door. As I finally raised my hand a bit, I got knocked flat on my butt by the door swinging open.

“Please find anyone and everyone that interacted with Mrs. Griffith in the Past Twenty-Fo-Hey, kid. What are you doing here? Can’t you see the tape, the Police? You can’t just wander onto a murder scene without-“

And after those last words I threw my body up off the grass, pushed the man over out of my way, and ran into the house. I stopped at the couch. I stared blankly at the blood ridden cushions. I take a 360 degree view of the room. You can see my mother’s precious living room torn apart. Lamp shades are in the middle of the floor. Glass lays everywhere. I didn’t know who was dead, but I had to know. I felt like if my stomach tied into a tighter knot, that maybe that hospital might be needed for me. I turned into the kitchen, and saw the broken dishes smashed all over the floor. Chairs were toppled over everywhere. The back door kept swinging open back and forth. I walked for the screen door, grabbed it by the outside, and slowly walked past it. I planted my white flip flop onto the patio, as I attempt to maneuver the other one to the same. I still feel like a person has been numbed from head to toe. I turned the corner to see two police men with my Dad standing there, crying. This was very rare. The only time I ever saw him cry was when I was almost killed the year before. I cleared my throat, and everyone turned heads. My father gave me a look like I have never seen.

“Aubrey, Honey, when did you get home?” he says as he tries to talk like he wasent sobbing like a baby crying for there mother.

“About ten minutes ago, what’s going on?”

“Oh, how was your graduation?” Still fighting back tears.

“Fine, Whats going on?”

“That’s good; Did Grandpa and Grandma make it?”

“Yeah, they did. Dad, what is going on?” Im starting to get a little frustrated.

“That’s good; where’s your certificate? The star Student has to get a-“

“DAD! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. I honestly don’t know why I asked, because I know what happened. But I was hoping maybe it wasent true. Everyone gave me a stare that assured my feeling. Everyone’s head fell; they tried to ignore my tear filled gaze.

“Aubrey, it’s your mother.” My dad said in a low tone, hoping I wouldn’t hear him. But I heard him like he was speaking in a megaphone. I felt like the whole world just turned upside down, like my lungs had no air, like my whole world had just completely broke down. And, I snapped.

“NO, COME ON. YOU FOOLED ME! OK CAMERAS, COME ON OUT, I GET IT, YOU GOT ME!”

Everyone stared at me with such pain there eyes, it was unbelievable. I threw around lawn chairs, Broke ornaments, and pretty much everything else to find these hidden cameras that I found never find, even if I found a genie lamp. It was then that I stopped, just stopped. My dad walked towards me and attempted to put his hand on my shoulder.

“NO!!!!!!!!!!” I screamed so loud to a point where people in Albany probably heard my shriek. I threw his hand from my arm, and ran through the gate. And I ran. And I ran, and ran, and ran. I ran for what felt like days, tears streaming down my cheeks. I was running to a point where I could be the start runner for the school track team. It started to rain, but it didn’t bother me any. I ran into people, knocked people over, but it didn’t bother me any. It was then I finally felt my legs give out like I just was paralyzed. I fell flat on my face, feeling weaker than a newborn child. I lay on the hard concrete sidewalk, just crying. I forced my body up, and went to a bench, where I curled up and continued to cry. I knew everything, yet I was confused. I was alive, yet I felt dead. I felt my self breathing, but my lungs felt like they had disappeared from my body. I was in the middle of the city, yet I feel like everything is quiet. I feel people rushing, but when I look up, everything’s in slow motion. I hear people yelling my name, searching my name, but I pretend my named not Aubrey Griffith, I pretend im not even a person. I just lay my head back down into my arms, and drown out the yells with the sounds of the rain.

That day, my mother was brutally murdered by a serial killer. My dad returned home from work early so he could bring my mom out to lunch, before we go to my graduation. He came home to a busted door, blood, broken glass, and a broken, body of my lovely mother, Helen Griffith. And this is why neither of them showed up to my graduation. The police finally found me, put me in the back seat of there flashy police car, and took me to my grandparents, where I stayed the night. That summer was probably the worse summer of my entire life. I stayed in my room all summer. I fell into a depression that was unexplainable. Whenever I got a text or a call, all I did was mute it. I didn’t want anyone to see me. I didn’t want to see anyone. I barely ate, and I honestly couldn’t care less. My dad wasent really depressed, just intoxicated. All he did all day was sit on the couch, watch bad TV, and drink until he passed out until the night when he went to stripper bar, which is where all our money went to, instead of food, clothes, or anything basic.

Everything started with the first time I went out. I went out in the end of august, to go to the carnival. I went with my friends, and for the first time in two months, I actually smiled. I stuffed my stomach with friend dough, cotton candy, and pretty much anything that was bad for me. I went on every ride, twice. I forgot what it was like to have fun. The clock struck eleven when I realized I had to be home in ten minutes. I quickly ran home. It was far, but considering my stamina, I ran it. I got home at 11:12. I ran through the door. I saw my father sitting at the table, with a bottle of whiskey grasped in his hand.

“Im so sorry dad, I really am. I was having so much fun, and I didn’t realize what time it was. I tried to get home, but I ended up getting home two minutes late, im so sorry, please forgive me!” I pleaded.

I stood against the door. My father acted like I never even walked in. He took another sip of the hard whiskey.

I took one step, “Dad?” I said, which was a mistake.

“Shut your mouth!”

He turned his body, and threw the half full whiskey bottle right for me. Thankfully, he was drunk, and it missed me.

“Dad, what’s wrong with you!”

He got up from the seat, walked towards me, and backed me into the door. He slammed his hand on the door, and put his face into mine.

“When I tell you to be home, I mean be home! I don’t care if you have to get picked up by a creep, when I say I want your a** home, I mean at the time I want, not two minutes after!!” He screamed. I smelt the whiskey on his breath, which made him gag, which didn’t help. He punched me right across the face, hard. Hard enough to knock me right over. I fell on the floor, holding my cheek to my throbbing face. I glanced up, and he started to kick me in the stomach.

“You like that, Huh? I bet you do! I bet you love to p*** me off... Well im sick of your s***, Aubrey. Disobey me again, and you’ll be dead!”

He finally stopped kicking me, turned around, grabbed a bottle of liquor, and slammed his door. I started to cough up blood as I lay on the floor, feeling completely broken. I look up at a picture of us; my family. What happened?

From that day on, whenever anything bad happened, my father beat me. I always tried to be perfect, but it never worked. I always had to use makeup to cover up anything that showed any sign of abuse. I couldn’t let anyone find out. What would they think? So now here I am, a 10th grader, going into her 2nd trimester, and I still live with my drunk of a father, the abuse, the pain, the suffering. I have become like a master of disguise. I cake on a smile that would fool anyone. I take what I get, and I’ve learned to live like that ever since that one day in June...