Life is crappy. My mom's a bitch. She was going to let me live with my dad but then she changed her mind. She's a bitch. Not much else to say. Nothing happens in my life. I look forward for school to start. Since I have nothing to write, I will paste in the short story that I wrote for Ms. Katahara's class. I know that Vanessa already read it. Keep in mind, it's FICTIONAL.
The Final Ride
I hated getting off the bus. Getting off the bus meant going home, and going meant seeing my mother. I didn’t see her much, in her free time she was usually sleeping barhopping or, but the time we did spend together was torture. My after school hours were spent waiting for the long-awaited time of 4:30, when she would go off to work at Kalei’s.
I finally trudged up the stairs to the tiny apartment, and not long after I had taken three steps into the living room, I was hit with a slap on my face.
“Jennifer!” my mom screeched, “I was busting my ass last night waiting tables so I can pay the rent, and you can’t mop the floor like I told you too! Come here, look at it!” and she pulled me by the wrist down to the floor. “It’s all covered with your hair and filth!”
I thought to myself, “The hair that you pulled out.” Apologetically I said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t have time after I finished my homework. I’ll do it right now.” Wiping away a tear, I added, “I got my report card toady, all “A’s”.”
“What do your grades have to do with the way that you constantly disobey me?”
I felt as if I had been dealt a blow. There was nothing I could do to respond, so I started to get the mop and bucket out of the closet. I should have expected that. I should have known that I couldn’t please her. A 4.0 GPA with all honors isn’t good enough for her. Even if I had mopped the floor, she would have still found something to punish me for.
The only person I could please was Logan. Logan worked at Hawaiian Interiors, delivering people’s furniture. Yes, perhaps he was too old for me, almost tens years so, but our love was genuine. He would come over after my mom left for work, and we would be able to get close. Logan was always careful not to get me pregnant; he didn’t want a baby and I certainly didn’t either. My favorite part of the whole day was after we had finished and Logan would say, “I love you, baby.” How those four simple words affected me so greatly. It would be as if my heart sprouted wings and flew into my head, filling my brain with its serum of jubilation. It was after that that I felt appreciated and venerated for the first time. But then he would have to leave, and I would have to return to my wretched life.
The next day was Saturday, a day I loathed because I didn’t get to leave home and go to school, just a longer period of suffering. Saturday was laundry day, a day of carrying heavy baskets of laundry down to the laundry room. It wasn’t too awful until I was coming back with last load of laundry from the dryer. When I was opening the door, I somehow lost hold of the laundry basket, and the sheets tumbled onto the linoleum.
“Look what you did, you clumsy pig!” my mom shouted. “You knocked my sheets—the sheets that I sleep on—onto the dirty floor!”
“But I just mopped the floor yesterday,” I reminded her.
“Don’t you talk back to me, brat!” my mom shrieked, and she grabbed me and spanked my butt rigorously. “Now go sit in your corner!” she commanded.
I sat in the corner trying to avoid sitting on my aching butt and cried. “Why is God punishing me?” I silently asked myself. “What have I done to deserve this? No, it wasn’t me; I’m just a victim of my own circumstances. I want to leave so badly! I wish I could live somewhere else!”
Then my mom started, “When you’re done with your self-pitying crying spiel, go and wash my sheets again, and this time, why don’t you make the effort to drop them on the floor like the lazy cow that you are.”
Without a word, I picked up the laundry basket and hobbled down to the laundry room, where luckily, no one was there to see me crying.
A couple weeks passed. I was lying in bed with Logan, lamenting to him my tribulations with my mother when he said almost out of the blue, “Why don’t you come with me to Mexico? Yeah, we could fly to California, and I could take you across the border, and we could get married because it’s legal down there, and no one could find you. What do you think?”
I was speechless. The idea was just so astonishing that I could hardly think. The idea of being free from my mother, and being able to be with Logan all the time was too much for my brain to compute. It was everything that I had fantasized about. Imagine that Logan loved me so much that he wanted to marry me and spend the rest of his life with me! I was ecstatic at the thought of my new life. “Logan, of course I’ll come with you and marry you! I love you so much!”
“And I love you, too.”
I melted into him in a state of bliss.
Two weeks later I left my house as I normally would in order to catch the bus, but this time my backpack was filled with my personal belongings. I didn’t have much, so I didn’t experience any trouble in my getaway. I passed by my mother, asleep after a long night of drinking, and didn’t speak a word to her, just as I normally wouldn’t. I waited on the curb for ten minutes before Logan pulled up in his battered old truck.
“Hey, Jennifer,” he said and greeted me with a kiss. “Won’t it be great when we get to California, and I get us a nice car?”
“Yeah, I’m so excited!” I proclaimed.
We soon arrived at the airport. We made our way through security without any trouble as I was traveling under a fake name with Logan posing as my uncle. When our flight boarded, we got onto the plane and took our seats. No one suspected a thing.
When we finally got off the plane I was so eager to start my new life. And Logan took me to Mexico, all right. I rode in the trunk of his new car, bound and gagged. He never did marry me. I never saw my mother again. | 
