"Why me?" by Brandon H, Age 10, Class 6KR

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Brandon has created a story - a piece of fictional family history..........

Why me?

Chapter one...

I hate this day. The day that my mum got hitched with the worst step dad.
EVER!
Being piggy in the middle is what I do best; complaints and arguments bounce off of me like I am a rubber-ball.
Mum got married in nineteen-eighty-three and soon after, dad died.
His name was Benny, he was so sweet and kind and gentle.
Now mum married this lump and he treats me like it’s Victorian London; spank here, spank there, clip round the ear, press weight down on head, etcetra…
If they don't divorce (hopefully very quickly) then I'll go cuckoo- crazy and delirious.
Why me?

Chapter two…

My disgusting, carbuncle of a step dad and my unbelievable mum are downstairs watching their wedding video on their, cheap cassette player (did I mention my step dad bought it, I never want to touch that)
Now it gets to the soppy bit, where stepdaddy-dearest says “I love you, my angelic cherub.”
Talk about fake and absolute… ick
If my step dad is an angel, he has devil horns, glasses, a moustache and a ruddy-great dagger!
If he was I would chuck a whopping demolition ball at him (if you can call him a him, I bet he’s a pot-bellied, green alien from the planet Uranus)!
I storm downstairs and pull the cassette player from its sockets and stamp on top of it with my football-boots, I then violently remove the wedding video and fiddle with the tape inside of it.
“There! Oh, and, step-daddy dearest, I think you’ll be pleased to know that I printed a divorce sheet off of the Internet and signed in both of your names. And now, mummy-dearest, your name is Louisa-May, not Louisa-Carter!”
My stepfather was a perfect model of horror, his face still as a statue, his bottom-lip quivered.
“Yeah, I knew your plan; you were going to take my mum’s money and bump her off, weren’t you?”
I rushed forward and slapped him several times around the face; he put me into a headlock.
I sank my teeth into his hand, he yelled, loosened his grip.
Now he’s gone for good.

Chapter three...

I and mum live in America now, away from him.
I call, her “mom” now, to blend into the American accent.
We have two dogs, one called Frankie and the other is called Terry, we have two cats called Jelly and Lemonfrost.
I hear a knock at the door; our first knock since we came here.
I rushed downstairs; I slid the bolt out of the lock and pulled open the door.
Oh, god, it’s him.

Chapter four...

There he stands, looming above me like Mr. Murdstone in Charles Dicken’s “David Copperfield”.
My lower jaw hung open; my step dad surprisingly ruffled my hair.
“Hello, Eva,” He said.
“W-w-what are y-you doing here?” I stammered.
“I have a job, here in America, I do a paper round; one pound twenty really isn’t enough for a week of struggling to hold all those papers from New York to Maine.”
“Well go and get another, I-I’ll call the p-police if you come here. Just give us the paper and go away!”
Unbelievably, my step dad dropped the paper and was hurtling down to New York.

Chapter four...

This concludes my story because of two reasons:
One: My wrist is aching.
Two: My step dad never came back.
Ciao!

By Brandon H
Age 10
Class 6KR
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