The Game of Life

No Victory for the Weak

Ricky's POV

I'm so sick of this. Every single fucking time I try and fight back, I get beaten senseless. I hated him with a fiery passion. He shouldn't even be considered an uncle with all he's done to me. He's been the center of my conflicts ever since my parents dumped me here. Why would they do it? Easy, they were too careless and didn't want a child. Why here? They knew I would suffer here. It fueled them and gave them power.

They are some of the ruthless ones. The beings that are nourished by others suffering, the ones that make me sick. Then there are the weak ones who are just struggling to stay alive.

I was unfortunately one of the weak ones, fighting to stay alive with no outcome of positivity. Every time I fight back, I receive ten times as much. Not just with my uncle, but the people I went to school with. There were only a few who understood the position I was in, mainly because they were also the same way. Weak with no form of fighting back, we tried every day to push forward and get through it. It became harder and harder every day. We made it. Not through life, but though school.

Two days ago, I graduated from high school and currently didn't have anywhere to move. I wasn't able to either, because my uncle wouldn't let me. I'm not saying that he just prohibited me from leaving, I'm saying I have no ability to leave. He boarded the windows, nailed the doors and barricaded every exit there was. The only way out was through the window in his room, but the door to his room was locked from the other side whenever he was in there and to make sure I wouldn't sneak out whenever he's sleeping or in the bathroom, he put tulips all around the door.

Now, he didn't do this for decorations because I'm highly allergic to tulips. If even got near them, I would start suffocating and my body would start to shake. This is one of the things I hated the most about myself.

There are many reasons I hate myself, and my uncle just repeats them over and over daily. Now was one of those times. I layed in my bed with my pillow over my head to try and drown out the words seeping from his mouth.

"You're worthless," he slurred from the other side of my locked door. He was drunk. "You're just cowering in fear, hoping that there will be an end to your fucking life, you little emo fag!"

Though I've heard him say this many times, it still hurts. There was something different I was feeling this time along with the hurt. I felt a need to fight back. I've felt this before, but never paid much attention to it after I talked back and got my ass beaten several times. This time, it was a force that was urging me. It took me a while to suddenly realize that this urge, this voice in my head, it was telling me to kill him.

I shook it off and continued to fail at drowning out his voice. After he verbally abused me enough, I heard him walk away. Fucking finally.

I wasn't crying like I usually would be. The feeling of pain from him had numbed to where it barely affects me. It sticks with me though and hurts whenever he does poke at it. It's like a splinter. Small, but if touched , it can cause a lot of pain. After awhile you forget it's there.

I rolled over in bed, removing the pillow from my head. I grabbed my phone to see if anyone had texted me. Four texts. They were from my friend, Angelo. My screen read:

Angelo:
Hey.

Angelo:
Hello?

Angelo:
You okay?

Angelo:
Ricky, I'm starting to get worried. Please answer.

As soon as I got done reading the last text he sent, I received another.

Angelo:
If you don't answer me, I'm coming over.

And with that, I instantly replied.

Me:
I'm okay Ange. It was my uncle again.

It didn't even take 10 seconds for a reply.

Angelo:
That's it. I'm coming over. Is he passes out?

I got up from my bed and checked outside my door. I looked down the hall and saw him sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed. I closed my door once again and turned back to my phone.

Me:
Yeah. Probably won't be waking up for about a couple of hours.

Angelo:
Perfect. Be over in about 10 minutes.

I rested my phone on my nightstand and stared at the ceiling. Angelo was one of those friends that will beat the shit out of anyone that hurts their friends. He tried that once with my uncle and ended up in the hospital for a  month. Whenever he finds out my uncle is beating me again, he sneaks on over after he's passed out. Fucking slob. Ange is my only escape from him. He fixes my bruises up sometimes if they're bad.

I had time to spare before Ange would show up so I decided to get a drink. I was thristy and hadn't had anything to drink but the blood in my mouth. I got up from my bed, grabbed my phone and walked to my door, quietly opening it. I knew my uncle was still passed out so I didn't have to be too quiet. I lightly walked to the kitchen past him and to the fridge. I set my phone on the counter next to the fridge an opened it. I saw the bottles and cans of alcohol. In the very back was a Rockstar so I decided to take it. As I pulled it out, I knocked a bottle of wine down and it shattered all over the floor. Fucking Hell.

Panic rushed through me as I looked at my uncle. He was dead to the world, so I instantly sighed in relief. I walked back to my room, carefully avoided the shattered glass on the kitchen room. As soon as I made it to my door, I heard a groan. My head shot to my uncle. He was stretching and waking up. Fuck! I rushed in my room and locked the door.

I needed to text Ange and tell him that my uncle was up. After frantically searching for it, I mentally slapped myself in the face, realizing that I forgot it in the kitchen. What the hell am I supposed to do now!?

Hey guys! So, new story. Yeah. I hope you guys like it! I'd love to hear your opinions about it so comment please! (Please no negative comments >.<)

Anyway, byeeeeeee!
-Nightmare