Hope is just another word for pain

The Tree of Conflict

I walk through the halls, music blaring in my ears. Fighting, fighting, they're always fighting. When will they finally stop?

Everyone is walking to the lunch room, but not me. I walk out the back doors of the school and around to a tall tree in the back of the field. I slowly sit, hoping no one followed me.

I teach into my backpack and pull out an all to familiar box. I open it and pull out a cigarette. I put it in my mouth and grab the lighter from my back pocket to light it.

Once it's lit, I just sit there, and think, I don't know why I deal with this. I should just end it. They're always fighting. Why don't they just get a divorce already?

Tears begin to run down my cheeks, and I struggle to stop them. Finally, when I'd had enough, I take the cigarette from my mouth and burn my arm, giving me a reason to cry.

Before I can burn myself again though, someone comes up behind me and pulls the cigarette from my hand. When I turn around, I see my best friend standing there, tears on her cheeks and a caring sadness in her eyes.