The Bit*h with The Hammer Messed up my Life.

I don't remember when she came. There was no turning point when she came into my life and started to terrorise me. No. And she always had a hammer in her hand. She had been there for as long as I could remember.

I don't remember it, but my mum always said I was a fussy baby who looked at something in the corner of the room all the time. My parents probably gushed over me and wondered what babies dream about.

I bet they didn't think of her.

That is what I looked at. Who I was interested in. Who I looked at all the time.

Why did no one else see her?

On the school field, at dinner, and while I slept, she was there, with limp hair falling down her back and a big, clawed hammer in her veiny hands. I tried to say something as soon as I could. Anyone willing to listen.

Cool kid with ideas. friend in your head. I was so easily thrown out.

I asked my parents every night to tell her to leave, and they did. They could tell I was scared. They would stand in front of my bedroom door and beg the thing to leave, as if it were some kind of hollow rite.

They never looked where they should have.

She never flinched.

While they pretended to believe me, she would look at me and smile. You could tell that by the look on her face. Smug. I knew that their backing was just a lie because of that.