We use cookies to give you the best experience possible. By continuing we’ll assume you’re on board with our cookie policy

A Mother Essay Sample

essay
  • Pages: 5
  • Word count: 1,283
  • Rewriting Possibility: 99% (excellent)
  • Category: literature

Get Full Essay

Get access to this section to get all help you need with your essay and educational issues.

Get Access

Introduction of TOPIC

‘Michael Michael’? That was my tiresome mothers voice, I meant stepmother. I opened my weary eyes and saw the same old view I had seen for seven years of my life. Furthermore it was going to be the same old day. I got out of my bed, which was more like a rubbish bin with litter everywhere. I turned on the dingy lights which only produced a faint glow and I put on my glasses. I got up eagerly knowing that I had to leave the house before my step mother saw me, so I walked over to the door which was no more than two metres away and put my ear against the filthy rotten door.

I was in the basement locked away from my bother and sisters who where eating breakfast with my step mother. I could hear the ringing mental sound of knife and forks hitting the plate and could hear my brothers being childish. I knew that my step mother could not control the kids and she let them do what ever they wanted but she could control me. She would do everything to me such as kick me, spit at me, throw things at me and punch me, but only I saw the damage.

I waited until they had gone upstairs before I made a move for the kitchen. ‘Thud Thud’ the noise of two brothers and one sister all going up the stairs at the same time. I opened the ice cold handle and crept to the kitchen hoping that my mother would not come down and see me. The abominable smell of bacon made me feel sick. I ran over to the toaster and got out the remaining pieces of what seemed to be toast and I gathered my school bag and sprinted to the door. I heard some footsteps coming down the stairs, so I opened the door in fright and knew that now I was free for a couple of hours at least. I made the brief journey to school and threw the piece of toast away. I made it just in time for school and was ecstatic when I saw Jimmy waiting out side school for me.

The bell went and it was the end of school it had raced by and I know what was waiting for me at home. I walked leisurely out of school and could smell the thick fog in the sky. It was close to Christmas and I knew that soon it was going to snow. Looking up I could see the looming purple sky taking over blue; they seemed to chase each other. I put my hands in to my pockets and put my worn out gloves on as the biting cold wind attacked me. It was as cold as the hand of my step-mother. I was shivering.

I entered the street on where I live and my house was in sight. I opened the door to

find my stepmother waiting for me. I let my bag plummet form my sweaty hands and I shyly walked in to the kitchen. She followed me. I went over to the fridge pretending not to be concerned and I got a can of coke out of the fridge. It was freezing so I put it down on the counter. “Do you want some food?” bellowed my stepmother with a smile and in reply I shook my head. “Well you have to have some” and got a golden brown apple, came over to me and shoved it in my mouth. I cowardly ran away to my bedroom. I sat on the bed. The apple was sour in my mouth and my lips were bleeding.

She came after me like a raging bull. I turned my head and saw the malicious look in her eyes. I knew what was going to happen. She came over and sat beside me just staring at me. We sat like this for a number of minutes. The atmosphere could be cut with a knife. She raised her hand. Patted me on the back and I could tell that she was livid. She raised her hand a second time. This time clobbering me on my back. I winced in pain. No one could see her doing this. She then again punched me in the stomach. The salty tears running down my face, she slapped me again for no reason. She got up. “Your real mother is dead” she mimicked. She left and I put my face against my pillow. I had to leave and I would do it tomorrow.

* * *

It was here and I would go for it. I ran out of my room and out of the door in a blink of an eye. I looked at the beautiful photo of my mother and I and looked at the address on the back of it. ‘146 Witling Street’ was where she lived and I could get the train to Devon. I jogged to the bus stop which took me a couple of minutes and to my delight the bus came. I hopped on and paid the ridiculous fee and sat at the front of the bus. The bus was not busy and there was only a minority of people sitting down, I was afraid, scared of this women or something else that was sitting at the back of the bus. She was as ugly as a witch and her eyes burned into the back of my head. I got off the bus thankfully at the local train station, looked left and right, went forward and paid the fare to the fat old man who irritated me by whistling. The ride took ages and the windows were condensing. I was finally there in the right city, knowing that I would rendezvous with her in matter of hours.

I jumped off the train and walked out of the station where the huge city spread in front of me like a monstrous beast waiting to eat me. I got on another bus not knowing where I was going. I asked the rather good looking bus driver where Witling street was and he replied that it was about five minutes away, so he let me off the bus there. I walked down the fulgent road and turned left and my heart pounded when I saw the road I was on. It was the road where my mother lived. I walked on the road and I was rather scared of what she would say to me, but I carried on walking. I could remember her great cooking and her tasty casserole in my mouth.

I was now opposite her house, the house of joy and elation and I knew that she would love to see me. It was a busy main road and the car fumes made me cough as the carbon dioxide filled my lungs. I walked out in to the road just between two cars and through the curtains I could see her, my mother and she was waiting for me calling my name.’ Michael Michael’, so I went. Only she was in my mind. I stepped out in front of the road eyes fixed to the house. I took another step slowly and eagerly, and I could hear a horn, I turned my head, and I was blinded by the low autumn sun. I closed my eyes.

Sorry, but full essay samples are available only for registered users

Choose a Membership Plan

We can write a custom essay on

A Mother Essay Sample ...

According to Your Specific Requirements.

Order an essay

You May Also Find These Documents Helpful

Realism and Feminism literature

Kate Chopin was one of the best writers of the Realism and Feminism literature movement. Kate also wrote with a “local color” fashion to employ Cajun/Creole culture into her works that she always admired in Louisiana. Some of Chopin’s best work includes “The Awakening”, “The Story of an Hour”, “The Storm”, and “Desiree’s Baby”. Desiree’s Baby is a short story set before the American Civil War. The story is about a baby and a racial conflict between a wife and husband. Over time critics, scholars, and other writers have been writing about Chopin’s many subject matters and themes that she demonstrates. Many themes are presented in “Desiree’s Baby including women’s search for selfhood, slavery and racism, love and blindness, irony, and feminism. One of the first major issues in the short story is Armand’s Pride. His pride is demonstrated clearly in the short story. Throughout the literature, Armand Aubigny’s pride is...

The 19 organ Praeludia

The 19 organ praeludia composed near the end of the 17th century form the heart of Buxtehude’s work and are ultimately considered some of his most important contributions to music literature of the seventeenth century. These compositions are sectional that alternate between free improvisatory sections and fugal sections, all make heavy use of pedal as well. Buxtehude’s preludes also represent the highest point in the north German organ prelude and the so-called stylus phantasticus, a style of early baroque music (Arnold, 2003). They were undoubtedly some of the strongest influences of J. S. Bach, whose organ preludes, toccatas and fugues, and all other organ compositions frequently use techniques very similar to Buxtehude. Buxtehude’s Prelude and Fugue in D Major (BuxWV 139) will be the piece out of the 19 organ praeludia that I will examine on a structural and harmonic level. This piece begins with a D Major pattern that...

Captivity narratives american literature

Question: Both captivity narratives were written by women. In your opinion, does that give a unique perspective towards the natives? Do not forget to explain your answer. Finally, which narrative did you prefer and why? Captivity Narratives What shapes our viewpoints of other people? I believe that there are many different ways for us to have a viewpoint of something or someone. In the two captivity narratives of Mary Rowlandson and Mary Jemison, some people argue that because both authors are women, they give a unique perspective toward to the Native Indian people. I don’t agree so. In my opinion, I think our points of view in life are more complex than just because of our sex type. As in the two narratives of Rowlandson and Jemison, although both the writers are women, they gave some different perspectives toward the Indian because they met different people, they were at different...

Popular Essays

logo

Emma Taylor

online

Hi there!
Would you like to get such a paper?
How about getting a customized one?