Hope to Die

Growing up, you always think that you’re going to end up with your Prince Charming and ride away on your horse-drawn carriage and everything after that is going to be a happy ending. You’ll never face any problems again from evil witches or envious step-mothers and step-sisters. You’ll grow up with you lovely kids in your lovely kingdom in the lovely palace you call home.

But it doesn’t always end up that way. Not everyone gets their happy ending and not everyone gets their Prince Charming. And when life is real harsh on you, when you have nothing to hold on to anymore, you just want to let go and just start over—a brand new life with brand new people.

At least it’s that way with me. I have no one. No friends, no pet, no real family. It’s just me and a whole lot of hell. Ever since I can remember, my life hasn’t been the average teenage life, where I have tons of friends or a decent family. No, it’s been worse than that.

My parents are rarely ever home—always working in foreign places, not coming back for weeks or months even. This leaves my brother to have free reign in the house. And not just the house, but even me. There isn’t a day that doesn’t go by where I’m not tortured by him or his friends. Even the children who don’t associate with my brother know how to treat me—like dirt.

Every day is the same old routine—wake up, get dressed, have breakfast, ride the bike to school, and try avoiding people, but even I know by now that it’s no use. Even with my head covered with my loose, black hoodie and black sweatpants, they find me and do whatever they can to make my life miserable, as if it isn’t enough already.

Even today, with my head covered in my dad’s oversized hoodie and my loose sweatpants, trying to remain invisible and out of everyone’s way, I don’t get a break. I am dragged over to the back side of the building by my brother’s two friends, not even struggling, knowing that if I do, it will only bring upon more pain. Not that it matters anymore. Bruises and cuts are littered upon my body. I can’t even look into the mirror anymore. My upper arms are scarred from my own self injuries with the razor—a few even on my wrists when it gets increasingly bad. But I make sure no one notices.

Lost in my thoughts, I let them do what they came here for. Kick in the ribs. Punch in the nose. Slap on the face. Kneed on the back. Another kick on my leg.

Punch after punch, and kick after kick, I remain silent, silent tears slipping down my face as they destroy my body some more. But I don’t care anymore. It hurts too much to care. It hurts knowing your own flesh and blood would do this to you and to such a degree where it leads me to a grave depression.

Suicidal thoughts loom over my head. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing anyway. I would be out of my brother’s hair, I wouldn’t be such a waste of space to the other kids, and my parents are never home anyway, so they won’t even notice I’m gone. In fact, it would do they whole world a lot of good if I just… went away.

I have nothing to offer anyway. Sure, I get good grades and have a job, but what’s the point in it if it holds no value over the other things happening in my life.

Eventually, the warning bell rings, meaning that there is only five more minutes till class starts. They stop with their kicks and punches and back off.

“Come on guys, let’s get to class. We can deal with this piece of shit later,” Taylor, my brother, spits out in disgust upon seeing my face.

Everyone nods in agreement and pick up their bags they threw on the ground before they started to hit me. They stalk away, leaving me on the cold, damp ground, cold and bleeding.

I wipe away my tears and groan as I get up from the floor, assessing the damage.

No broken bones, thank God, I think to myself.

Sighing deeply, I strain to get up off the floor, my legs already swelling from the kicks they treated me with today. I go over to my bag and pick it up, lightly swinging it upon my shoulder. I cringe as it lands on a fresh bruise, but I don’t move it, knowing wherever I put it, it will hurt anyway.

I trudge down the nearly empty hallways and into my first period class, art. I’ve always liked to draw and paint. It has always been an escape for me. But today, I found no pleasure in it. Our teacher granted us a free period, allowing us to create whatever and hand it in the end of class.

Drawing has always been easier that talking for me. I could just vent onto the piece of paper. And I did just that today—but what I am drawing is not what I am feeling, not giving me any pleasure at all. Instead of drawing the depressing thoughts lingering in my head, I draw a vase of flowers, set in front of me. I couldn’t just hand in a piece of paper of the things going on in my head. It would just bring troubles and even more trips to the guidance office. Not that it mattered from today onwards, anyway.

Sighing once more after countless times, my hand stops moving on the paper when the bell signals the end of class. Cleaning my space, isolated in the back corner of the room, away from everyone else, I hand in my paper and stalk out of the room to my next period class.

The day passes by, not much different from the other. Shove here, shove to the lockers there, trip here, push here—it was the same every day.

The school day passes by slowly, but soon enough, it ends, giving me the freedom to go home. I unlock my bike from the bike stand, thanking god, once more, that it is okay. I only got this a week ago, after my brother “accidently” ran his car over it.

But who cares now. I don’t want this bike anymore. I’m never going to use it again. How can I when my legs are covered in bruises, leaving an ache in every movement. I haven’t driven my bike in so long anyway; I just bring it with me, hoping that by the end of the day, I’ll be able to ride it. But my brother and his friends don’t spare me a chance.

It hurts too much to bike home, so instead, I walk the two miles, my legs aching even more with each step. Before I stop by over my house, I go to my neighbor’s house, knowing he’s been wanting a bike for some time now, but not wanting to spend too much money on it. Might as well give him mine. He goes to my school, but he’s never engaged in any physical or verbal harm towards me, but he’s never tried to stop it either. But hey, it’s one less person to worry about, making my life just a tad bit easier.

I ring on the doorbell, noticing his car his home. He answers within seconds, surprised to see me at the door.

“Talon? What are you doing here?” He asks nicely/

“Hey Skylar. Um… I know you’ve been wanting a bike for some time now. Um… I just wanted to know if you wanted mine. I just got it last week, and I haven’t used it. I don’t even know why I bought it,” I ramble, blushing deep.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s a very expensive bike. You must want some money for it…” he asks, confused.

“No, I want you to have it. Please?” I plead.

“Um, okay, then, thanks,” he smiles genuinely at me, dimples showing. I try to give half a smile back, and mumble a quick “You’re welcome,” before turning slowly on my heels and walking back to my house.

At least someone will have a good use for it, I think.

Opening the door, I close it behind me, not bothering to lock it, knowing my brother will be here soon with his friends. But the house is my safe zone. They’ve never touched me here, and neither have they acknowledged me, making this whole process easier.

Closing my bedroom door, but not locking it, I drop my bag in the corner of the room and go over to my desk, grabbing a pen and post it. Writing a quick note on it, I put it on the empty memo board in front of my desk. I put on my iPod dock, blasting the music, drowning out the noise from the outside world.

I take my shoes off and trudge over to the bathroom. Quickly, I draw a bath and wait for the water to reach the top of the tub. Walking over to my vanity, I take out my razor.

I look at the sharp blade, seeing my reflection in it, wincing as I see bruises upon bruises. Not wanting to see more, I turn my head away and look at the tub and notice it’s full.

Taking a deep breath, I enter the warm water, clothes on, and sigh. Pulling up the soaked sleeve of my sweatshirt, I pull it up, noticing the faint scars running along my wrist, and the green vein poking out from my pale skin.

And ever so quickly, I slash it across the protruding vein, making it deep and long, up to the inside of my elbow. I do the same with my other arm and then drop the knife once I am satisfied. I submerge my head into the water, suffocating myself in the depths of the liquid, mixing with the red from my blood. I open my eyes, taking the last light I’ll ever see. I can hear loud thumping in the distance. Whether it’s my heart or something else, I don’t know nor do I care. It’s my last moment in this world.

My eyes start to blur and I can feel my heart slowing down. In moments, I will be dead, no longer being a burden to anyone.

I hear something in the distance, but I’m too far gone to tell what it is. Black is my friend now.

Forever.