Chiara Daveys is living a good life in England - if you ignore her constant struggle with food, lack of a guardian and how she's constantly working to pay the bills.
At 17 years old, she's been unaware of her 6 brothers who have spent the 14 years o...
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It felt as though days were merging together. Maybe this was my fault, I hadn't exactly been up to much. Recently, my days were spent under my duvet, hiding from the harsh reality which was death.
I'd gone through this before: losing someone I loved dearly.
Losing my mum was difficult - scrap that, it was devastating - but I had distractions. For example, I had upcoming exams, I had to get a job to pay for food and other basic necessities, and I had no guardian.
I have no distractions.
I've been allowed off school, I have no need for a job anymore and I have six brothers keeping watch over me. Keeping me alive.
Losing a friend is something I never thought I'd experience. At least, not so early on in life.
Everything seemed so stable; reliable, even.
I had routines, I had activities to do and places to go.
Everything has crumbled due to a singular shot from a small gun.
Life is fickle; that's what I've discovered from 17 years of living.
17 years old, not even an adult, and yet I've witnessed death multiple times. Both caused by a disease. Only, one was natural and the other was rooted from hatred.
People are born into this world, and eventually they die. Some sooner than others.
What's the point?
What's the point of working hard to achieve your goals, to care for other people, have them care in return, when a singular pull of a trigger can destroy so many people.
