Emmanuel Woods ~ District 7 |FINISHED|

I'm quiet. Whenever I spoke up at the house, my father would yell at me, and sometimes even hit me. To me, talking is just another way that I can get into trouble. The only time I actually speak is when I am asked to. I speak through writing, my only real talent that I have. A pencil, some paper, and a big imagination is the only reason I haven't ended my life. Writing is the only way that I can express what I want to say, but not using my voice. My quietness leads me to being bullied a lot in school, and another reason for the bullying is because of my weird looking teeth. Bullying has taken a harder tole on me then my parents have, and I have hurt myself over it. When I did try to speak up in school, or even try to make friends, it always ended up in rejection, and I am too scared to face it once more. The only true friend that I have had that was my brother, Warren. But, he isn't here anymore, so I spend my nights all alone in my room, trying to figure out another plan to escape from the hell hole that could only be my life.

I have this thing you call Claustrophobia. I feel very uncomfortable in very tight spaces. If you combine this with a bunch of people, then I am pretty much toast. This came onto me the day I was stuck in a corner, and the only person blocking my way was my abusive father. That day was where I got most of my scars. Even if I am very anti-social, the outside is one of the few places I enjoy. Whenever my idea is flowing with a good story idea, I will always take the short travel to my favorite tree, just a few feet away from my house, and start writing. The sounds of the animals give me so much hope for a better day, even though I have never had a better day.

Bipolarness rules my body. Just one dramatic thing could happen and it is like you just set off a ticking time bomb. I was never able to control my emotions, mainly because they were always forced out one way or another. The only times in my life that I was ever truly happy, someone had to come in and crush them. I never really understood what "fun" was, since my life is just full of the opposite of it. Torture. I try my best to treat the people around me with the highest amount of respect, but if you say the wrong thing, I will go berserk. I will do almost anything you ask me to do, because my father looks at me as his servant, and if I do not listen to what he tells me to do, bad things will happen.

Well, let me start with when I was born. I guess I was a "mistake" and that I was never supposed to even be here. My mother felt really bad about the situation, but was determined to raise me. Well, my father had different intentions. He tried to kill me when I was just a baby, because he was never prepared to EVER be a father. My own mother had to take fighting the one she loved just to keep my alive. My father was jailed for a few years due to child abuse, but he is back in the house, hurting me more then before. Mother works two jobs to keep our family afloat, and my brother did work a job, but let me explain what happened to him. He was just innocently working in the factories, just like I am now, and a fire started. Now, since the factory made lumber, it made it worse. I had to see with my bear eyes my brother jump out of the building to his tragic, fiery death. Those memories still raid my mind every night I even manage to fall asleep.

Just a few years after my brothers death, at only the age of 12, I tried to escape. That loose hole in the fence was my only chance of freedom, to run away from all of the horrible things that are around me. That night would be the one I regretted the most, however. I didn't make it that far into the vast forest before the peacekeepers caught up. I was vulnerable when they actually caught up to me. They pinned me down to the ground, and they even threatened to kill me right then and there. I was knocked out, and the only thing I could think about was my brother. The next moment I opened my eyes, I was tied onto a wooden pole, and multiple faces were looking at me. I thought it was just a dream, well, a nightmare, but once the whip cracked on my bare skin back, I thought otherwise. Each crack produced more tears in my eyes. Once all 30 were done, I hear a few murmurs of the peacekeepers talking about cutting my tongue off. All I wanted was to end my life, and I was praying they actually would. But, since it was only a first offense, they held back making me an avox. At points in time, I want to go back into those woods, get caught, and just end the horrible story that is my life.

The only person I have ever trusted was my mother. I am her pride and joy. She tries to treat me as well as she can, but father won't allow it. Every time he sees her treating me like I was actually her own, he would hit her. My father always enjoyed hitting everyone and everything. The only time I can ever get out of the house and away from all the hurtful things is at night. I have my own special place not that far away from the factories where I just lay down, and forget about this cruel world. That place is the only place where I can freely let tears out, scream, and just mumble on about how my life could be so much better then it is. I've been dying to find someone who really understands me, and could some day be the person that I could even be married to. But with my luck, any chance of that happening in the rest of my life time is very futile.