• Scars on my hands. Pain on my face. A rush of shock runs through the neighbors' expressions. As I walk out of the dulling flames, a police car carries away the man I called my father. The hate in his eyes... Like he's disappointed in me. They tell me Ill be fine, but the marks on my arms and back tell me otherwise. I don't know who to believe.. And I fear I never will. Pain is all I have experienced. I pray it doesn't stay this way for long. I pray things will get better for mother and I.. Because I never said goodbye.. But I'm sure I'll see her in heaven some day.