draft

I am dead. The stories which follow happened before I died. I have been wondering how to start this book so I now know that this is how it starts. Ok, well I suppose the beginning of it all as far as I am able to remember was in a bath tub in the home I was taken to after being registered, approved and issued with a bond certificate by the Simpsons Memorial hospital in Edinburgh Scotland.
My mum had put me into a bath up stairs in our house then gone back down stairs to talk drunk suburban rubbish to her friend on the phone. I can't really remember how long I was left in the tub but I know a two year old gets lonely fast in that situation so I started calling her to come to me...After a while I heard her say some shit down the phone then stomp up stairs towards me. now, in my mind she was coming to pick me up and wrap me in a cosy towel in her arms. How wrong I was! What actually happened was that as I sat straight upright in the water my mum burst into the small seventies room and with her full open fat gold ring clad right hand raised to the full twist and belted me in my wee head as hard as she could. She then turned and made her pissed way back to her friend on the phone. The bath water went ice cold. I sat still in what had become a very dark and different world. I am not sure how long I was left there and I cant remember much about my life after that till about the age of eight but what I know is that I had been slammed shut. My spirit dove deep.
I don't remember much about my dad during those years as he work away a lot but what I do remember is that I felt awkward near him and I now believe he felt the same around me. I used to stand with my right foot just above my left knee when I was near him. I guess it was the Hanged man position reversed. All the normal family shit happened like school, sports, meal times, weekend stuff etc...and the wavy hedge in the front was always trim. Oh aye, one meal time during the week at five thirty when my dad was home my knife made a squeaking noise on the plate when I was eating tatties and mince. My dad told me not to do that again as if I had done it on purpose. Well I tried my very best not to make a sound as I ate. Yip you know what happened. Sure enough my plate squeaked and I bolted almost before the noise had ended under my dads swinging arm and traveled as fast my wee legs would go up stairs to the safety of the toilet which had a lock on it. I just made it in time! Then came the banging and the threats of abuse. I just stayed quiet till he calmed down and fucked off. Anyway that I remember. I know that we as a family did stuff together but honestly it was all just the routine disconnected programmed stuff. Where was the love? I guess it was in there somewhere because I know that all spirits are the same. However not all program's are and the degree to which a person has been subjected to a programming environment in the main determines the outcome. Both my parents had been hammered in their respective childhoods so I guess they did their best to do the best they could with that. I am giving them the benefit of the doubt because world wars are just that. The residue left by them still rips through the world on every level and will continue to do so unless the change is made.