Perspective homework (final. Ignore the first one, that was really bad)

Every morning I wake up and I think the same thing. Damn, I’m still alive. I have realized over the past few years after I entered middle school that life is cruel. You never get what you want and everybody hates you. Whatever you do is never good enough for anyone and sometimes you just feel like dying. That’s how I feel every single stinking day. You might be wondering why I’m saying this. You might even be thinking that I’m such a pessimist. Well, let me tell you my story and maybe you might change your mind.

Ever since I was three, I’ve hated my dad. He was always out late getting drunk and clubbing. I always remember mum telling me and Jake to go to sleep while she waited up for dad. I would then be woken up in the middle of the night by dad barging in through the front door at about 2 in the morning. I would stand at the top of the stairs and listen to them fight. I was too young to understand what they were talking about and right now, I can’t remember anymore. I just remember the fights usually ended with something slamming and then I would sneak quietly back to the room Jake and I shared. I would wake up in the morning to find dad gone, again and mum with a bruise on her face.

Poof. 12 years later I’m 15 and dad is still the same jerk that he always was. Since I turned 10, he barely came home. When he did, he’d argue with mum for a while, hit her then take the money. That’s what he always comes back for, money. Not to see how we’re doing. Not to apologize to us for what he has done. For money. So that’s the background I come from. Since my mum always had to work to support us and Jake was in university overseas, I was usually left alone at home. I had no social life what so ever in school because I thought everyone was the same jerk that my father was. I didn’t talk to anyone in school. After a while, people didn’t even bother talking to me too. Sometimes, people would poke fun at me or call me names but I didn’t care. I stopped caring about 6 years ago.

That day was like any other day. I woke up, went to school. On the way home I saw Dylan and Sam walking by me. They were the school bullies, no one dared to go near them. They are the type of people who expect you to move out of the way when they walk by. Everyone was scared of them so they just avoided them. I, on the other hand did not really care. So what? They’re just boys who throw their size around to scare people off. I kept on walking. They didn’t look happy. When I walked past, whether it was an accident or not I bumped into them, but I kept on walking. 2 seconds later Dylan grabbed me by my collar and growled at me.

“Watch where you’re going.”

“You bumped into me not the other way round.”

That did it. Dylan pulled me towards him and breathed in my face.

“Do you want to die today?”

His breath stank, but I didn’t flinch. I think that got him mad because then he threw me to the floor. I wasn’t scared and that surprised me. Most people would be terrified and would run away as soon as they could. Dylan then reached into my pocket and took my wallet. Before he could withdraw his hand, I grabbed it. I must have grabbed it pretty hard because he had that surprised look on his face.

“Give it back...” was all I mumbled.

Dylan then used his other hand to punch me in the face. Then all hell broke loose. Sam soon joined Dylan to beat me up. The grip Dylan had on my wallet loosened and I snatched it back. They were still beating me up. I didn’t try to fight back. Not because I was scared that they might overpower me. I could easily take them because dad used to hit me when I was younger and I had to learn how to defend myself when he did since the cries of my mum weren't good enough. I just let them hit me for one reason only. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was thinking, hoping in fact that they would kill me. That my life sucked and that I would be better off dead. Mum would only have to work to support Jake and she would also have money to give to dad. Besides I was just one person. What did my life matter? Soon enough, everything went blurry and I blacked out.

I woke up lying on my bed. It took me a while to register my surroundings. I was upset that I wasn’t dead but glad that I was still alive. Someone must have called my mother and brought me back as my bruises were already yellow from the medicine that someone put on it. I tried to remember what happened. Dylan and Sam were beating me up because I stopped them from stealing my wallet... My wallet! I searched frantically in my pockets for my wallet but I couldn’t find it. Then I found it on my bedside table. Dylan was after the money in my wallet but that was not why I stopped him. I took it from beside me and opened it. In one of the pockets was a picture. In that picture was me when I was a year and a half old, dad when he wasn’t an alcoholic yet, Jake was still the goody two shoes he used to be and mum when she was relaxed and happy. The money in that wallet didn’t matter, only that picture. I don’t remember much but that picture tells me everything. That once upon a time, we were a family. A happy family. I’ve had this photo since I was 9. I always keep it with me because I hoped that one day, we could be like that again. I still do. Like always, tears rolled down my cheek...