I never had the brightest childhood.
In fact I would probably say that it's one of the worst.
My mom was a hooker at a nearby strip club and would occasionally sell drugs.
My dad would always come home with a half drunken bottle of whiskey.
Since my mom didn't want anything to do with me, she decided to work at a different strip club.
So it was only just me and my dad staying in the house.
Because of my dad's alcoholic nature he always would cause a mess around the house which I cleaned after him.
Though there are the occasional times where he would beat me and tell me that I shouldn't have been born.
That was probably because of the child support he had never paid.
I didn't want to go through this for my entire life so I tried to report him to the police.
But since my face wasn't convincing about that stuff they decided to not do anything about it.
My face hasn't always been the happiest.
It was more like an emotionless expression that was always stuck there, like a blank white canvas that showed nothing behind it.
Since I couldn't report him in a normal way I decided to lie about something he didn't do.
Three days after that time I stole my dad's wallet while he was sleeping.
I had hidden it underneath my bed so that in the morning he couldn't find it.
Once he had gone to work I went to a nearby store.
I had then taken one of the BB guns from the shelves.
It was a pistol, I didn't know what kind it was but it was a small pistol.
I brought it up to the register as the worker looked at me weird before scanning it.
Using my dad's money I bought the gun and walked back home.
Before my dad came back home I hid the gun underneath my bed as well before watching a video on how to modify a gun.
After I had finished watching, I went back to my room and began to work on the bb guns.
Two weeks later I waited for dad to come back home, drunk as always with the gun in hand.
I watched as he entered the house in a stumbling mess of a man.
He was a sorry excuse of what could be of a man.
It didn't take long for him to start beating me up and calling me random profanities like being the son of a whore or being a worthless piece of shit.
My dad wasn't always the smartest either.
Before he knew it he grabbed the gun out of my hand and shot me with it.
BANG!
the sound of the gun rang through both of our ears.
I had only modified the bb gun to be extremely loud, loud enough for the neighbors to hear it.
It didn't take long for the police to get to the house and knock the front door down with guns ready.
My dad, not knowing what to do, dropped the gun and put his hands up.
Seeing this the cops put him in handcuffs and dragged him away.
One of the cops ran over to me and noticed the markings of where my dad hit me.
When I looked at the cop's face I realized that it was the same one who didn't take my report seriously.
After some time investigating my dad and trying to figure out where I should live, they finally allowed me to visit my grandparents from my dad's side.
Being only 10 years old I knew I had to live with my dad's parents.
And after what happened to them I wished I could've treated them better.