Raphael
Everyone has a story, and I guess this is mine. It will be brief, I promise.
Past
Raphael Eleven Years Old
"Raphael!"
I barely get a chance to speak and show my mother the flowers I plucked before she lifts her hand. I take a step back, knowing she will hit me even though I brought her a present.
Can I stop it?
SLAP
No.
Silently, I rub my cheek. The area stings from the hit, and my mother glares down at me. Angry once again.
"How dare you come home late?! Didn't I say you're supposed to come home directly from school and not take silly detours? You need to be more responsible, like your brother, Jafar!"
Why is she always so loud?
She frightens me, so I shut her out and sing la-la-la inside my head. I know what she is saying anyway. Jafar is the better brother. The futur
