I am Manson, not that names really matter, it's just another label somebody else placed over you. I was born in small town, Kaneri 1968, named after a secret society that existed before the World War I. Back then the land was deserted and lost in the maps, hence the favorite destination for wanderers and the once who seek to flee but now decades later every crack and corner you can spot here is something every painter would crave to capture on a canvas.
In this town, most people earn their livelihood out of the land. Our family belonged to the minority in the town, but we are well -off, we had enough money to afford three squares a day. My father served as a cop and mother joined the Kaneri high school as an English teacher, five years ago, …show more content…
But I don't dislike or like them completely. I never stood for myself, against any of them because they few of them came from abusive families, like father, like son. But sometimes the racial slurs breaks me up in tears by the time I reach home, in my room.
I never understood why people would consider physically fighting back as the best strategy, whenever I got bullied I would run as fast as one could, they would try to chase me, but never ended up catching me, not because I was fast as the lightning but because the crowded hallways slowed them down but from my perspective those crowded hallways looked like a maze, and I was the pinball with no destination.
I didn't have any friends, at least none of them were close so the shuffling at the end of each year didn't bother me.
Going back home, I was the last one to be dropped from the bus, so I had plenty of time for a nap, so would take one, most …show more content…
About 3 hours later, I fell asleep in the waiting room. I had a nightmare, where I had to relive the same terrifying moment over and over again. In it, I was sitting at the dinner, with my dead parents sharing a last meal, they were covered in blood, but it pleasant in a way and suddenly I heard a noise from my room, I was asked to check it out, maybe one of the street cats got in. In walked the stairway towards my room, and suddenly the door burst wide open and there was a woman standing, dressed in a glowing gown blocking my way to my room, she was holding a cat in her arms, she had broken chains tied around her neck and wrist and long hairs that reached her shoulder, her eyes were bloody red, she walked towards me and whispered M-A-N-S-O-N, and I felt her saliva on my shoulders, and suddenly Sher ripped my heart out. And I was forced to relive that nightmare over and over again until the cop who looked similar to the lady in my nightmare but well done woke me
In this town, most people earn their livelihood out of the land. Our family belonged to the minority in the town, but we are well -off, we had enough money to afford three squares a day. My father served as a cop and mother joined the Kaneri high school as an English teacher, five years ago, …show more content…
But I don't dislike or like them completely. I never stood for myself, against any of them because they few of them came from abusive families, like father, like son. But sometimes the racial slurs breaks me up in tears by the time I reach home, in my room.
I never understood why people would consider physically fighting back as the best strategy, whenever I got bullied I would run as fast as one could, they would try to chase me, but never ended up catching me, not because I was fast as the lightning but because the crowded hallways slowed them down but from my perspective those crowded hallways looked like a maze, and I was the pinball with no destination.
I didn't have any friends, at least none of them were close so the shuffling at the end of each year didn't bother me.
Going back home, I was the last one to be dropped from the bus, so I had plenty of time for a nap, so would take one, most …show more content…
About 3 hours later, I fell asleep in the waiting room. I had a nightmare, where I had to relive the same terrifying moment over and over again. In it, I was sitting at the dinner, with my dead parents sharing a last meal, they were covered in blood, but it pleasant in a way and suddenly I heard a noise from my room, I was asked to check it out, maybe one of the street cats got in. In walked the stairway towards my room, and suddenly the door burst wide open and there was a woman standing, dressed in a glowing gown blocking my way to my room, she was holding a cat in her arms, she had broken chains tied around her neck and wrist and long hairs that reached her shoulder, her eyes were bloody red, she walked towards me and whispered M-A-N-S-O-N, and I felt her saliva on my shoulders, and suddenly Sher ripped my heart out. And I was forced to relive that nightmare over and over again until the cop who looked similar to the lady in my nightmare but well done woke me