Dear you worthless people who should have my life,
I got to admit it, I enjoy school, but it’s somewhat a hell. I get pissed off easily. No matter what. You should see my...Dad? He shouldn’t be called that. Maybe asshole? Killer? Yeah, that’ll work. Well, my “Killer” tries to kill me all the time. I remember one night I came home from Joseph’s house, my closest friend, and the first thing I get when I walk through the door is a sucker punch to my face. Broke my jaw. My killer must’ve been drunk, because in the morning he didn’t remember it, hitting me. Truthfully, I don’t remember the whole night either. After the punch, everything’s just blurry. A punch, then I wake up in my warm bloody bed. Bloody? Yeah. He punched me so hard that my molar tooth popped out of its socket. It was very…disturbing. I still can’t believe he’d do that. I haven’t done anything. I came home about forty minutes before curfew. So why would he hit me?
Well, that leads into why Nichole isn’t my therapist anymore. She called the “Big People”=DIFAS. Yes, the bitch that seemed so perfect had flaws. She couldn’t keep up with my “parental abuse.” My dad was cleared and she was sent to an insane asylum for “assuming” I said those things. Well, it’s true, and whoever is reading this, you’ll know too. I’m tired, and worried.
Tired- of the shit.
Worried- of who might find my journals.
-Sam
YOU ARE READING
Why I'm Gone
Short StorySamuel Instant. What I've been called my entire life. I hate everyone. I can't stand anything. Except her. Josilyn Slowly. She's...Different. And here's our story.
