Who We Are

Chapter 2

I was starting to take off my jacket until I saw Sydney. "Hey," I said softly smiling. "Hey," she replied taking hers off too. I hanged my jacket and started to go outside having Sydney by my side.

Once I stepped out, I closed my eyes and inhaled a fresh breath of oxygen. That's a lie. The air was combined by different types of chemicals and gases that were coming from the industries and the factories. The sad thing is that you get used to it and it just affects your body. It's like an invisible drug.

A tap appeared on my shoulder. "Hello," Ricky said with his sassy voice. "Hi," I said making it sound like a question. I raised an eyebrow and immediatly chuckled. This guy definetely made you smile in seconds. We did our small handshake while Sydney laughed being entertained by our weirdness.

From the corner of my eye, I saw my Dad walking towards me, Sydney, and Ricky. "Hi Mr. Lynch!" Sydney exclaimed waving at him. Ricky shook my Dad's hand and said, "Good afternoon". "It's time to go home Ross, you don't want your Mother get angry," he said seriously. "Ok," I sighed, "I'll see you guys later then," I finished my sentence and waved them goodbye.

We started to walk towards our small house. Crowds of people were joining to do the same thing as everyday. To hopefully get home safe. To see your family. For a normal person, that would an extravagant question. For the people in Shedwood, that was one of the scariest goals they could experience.

"How was work?" Dad asked. "It was ok," I said shrugging, "You?". My Dad sighed and replied, "Could've been better". I nodded understanding his situation. I looked at Dad hoping he will say something about her. Dad sighed and said, "Poppy is fine".

My Dad pulled out the house key and turned the lock to open the door. I stepped in our cottage and directly went to the kitchen. I feel like my head is burning, I thought while rubbing my forehead with my hand. I grab a glass from the cabinet and pour water from the sink and gulp it. A sigh escaped my mouth and I walked to my room.

I sit on the bed and look at the window. It has two cracks. My wall has four bulletholes. I only remember two of the incidents, because before that, someone else slept on this bed and lived in this house. Suffering the pain of society and the small government.

The gun fires has stopped. Their next session is at 5:30. Great, because we have nothing else to do. I thought rolling my eyes to the sarcastic comment I just created. I lay on my bed and look at my ceiling. I wonder what is Mother doing.

I stand up and walk to my parent's room. I see my Mother sleeping with a bottle of vodka on the floor. Her addiction. I slowly look down and walk away from the room back to mine. While walking back to my room, I see my Dad writing some stuff on his notepad in the kitchen. His 'precious' notepad. My Dad loves to write, and he never let anyone peek or touch his notepad. It was a life or death situation. But I'm going to be honest with you, in Shedwood, everything is a life or death situation. Sadly.

I sit on my bed and take my own notebook. Since I was little, I also had a passion of writing, like my Dad. It's just something about words that fascinate me. The meaning and emotion about them, it's like this undescribable feeling that I get when I write a letter from the alphabet. Its beautiful figure that represents something. I just love it.

"November 21, 2015. 4:52 of the evening. It's like another day. The sky looks like a pale color of blue and it is painted with a fluffy color of ashes. Breathless. As I was walking through the street of Maple Lane today, I saw the same 9 year old kid sitting on his mother's arms crying, begging for help. If only I could do anything, but I suffer the same situation. Help. I need it, I crave it. I remember stepping in the building of Shedwood Industries and being welcomed by the smell of chemical scent. If only I could faint right there and in the time the clock showed. If only I could suffer less pain and more happiness, but the idea of it just made it impossible. The rest of the day went on like a painful memory. Joy. This is the part were I stop writing and pray that tomorrow is going to be a good day. Impossible. 5:07 - Ross Lynch."

I put the pencil down and hide the notebook beneath my pillow like every other day. I stand up and look at the window. Soldiers walk to their base and get ready for the next shooting session. "Ross," a voice appeared behind me. I turn around and softly smiled. "Hey Dad," I reply. "Do you want to eat something?" he asks with concern. "Not right now, but thanks".

He walks away from my room and I look at myself. I pull my shirt up, and see not really toned abs. But that's not the thing that worries me, what worries me is how skinny I am. My family and I barely eat, because we don't have enough food. I see scars in every direction possible around my chest. I pull my shirt down and sit on the floor making it crack.

A tear rolls down my cheek. If only I could scream for help. If only I could get out of this hell. If only someone could reach their hand to me to help me stand up on my feet. If only, one day that one person will come into my world, and change it. If only...