Camp Camp One-shot

The List

Authors note: No hate on religion or anything like that, and a warning for self harm and hate. 

   Daniel choked back the tears that threatened to spill down his flushed cheeks, his hand covering his mouth as he looked at the ground. The fluffy white carpet filling his blurry vision, he was heart broken. Not that he wasn't already broken but this just opened some wounds, he had been seen with another boy.

    It wasn't his fault that he was with him, they weren't even dating. It was just a kiss, his heart had been stolen by this boy. The redish-brown hair and sparkling eyes took him, his smile that he always wore made Daniel's heart melt. Just as their lips touched and he felt himself melt, a loud shout sounded from not far away. They snapped apart and stared at Daniel's father and mother, they had been caught. They were both practically frothing at the mouth as his father screamed for this other boy to leave, his sparkly angel left after kissing Daniel again and giving him a sad and grieving look. Daniel flinched hard as his father slapped him across the face, pulling his hair and bringing him close as he yelled. Both of his parents screamed and hit him before dragging him by his neck, back to the house. 

     When they made it back they whipped Daniel across the back and kicked him till he could, as usual, barley move. He was then tossed into his room and the door was locked, he sat up and felt tears threaten to spill. 

       That was how he got like this, he wanted to scream and cry. Through a complete fit and let his feelings free, but he didn't. He didn't want to have broken bones as they wouldn't even be given casts or something. As his wounds were never treated, he treated his own wounds. When his sisters were here they would help him and protect him, fix his broken bones. But now they were gone and he couldn't do anything about it, he could only hope he wouldn't grow up to be crippled. 

        He hated that he couldn't do anything about this, that he could only hope. He was taught since he was young that he should love everything and be grateful, that he should even love himself. But he hated everything, he hated this prison he lived in and these mindless, babbling fools. He hated his room that was all white, besides the yellow crosses scattered around his walls and blankets. He hated his life, that he was just a broken doll for his parents. He was to be whipped, burned, starved, dehydrated, taunted, verbally abused, neglected, and make beg for forgiveness. 

        He was only 16 and he wanted to die, he wanted everything to end. The only thing that kept him at least a little stable was his sparkly angel and his best friend. He had so much to hate yet so little to love and live for, so much hate that he had a list of things that he hated. The first five on the list went like this: 

1. My body

2. My prison (House)

3. The babbling fools (Family)

4. The torture (Punishments)

5. My room (Too bland and disgusting)

        He had the very first thing on this list be his own body because he didn't like it, he hated it the most. He was covered in scars and markings, his legs were a different color, a near brown and sensitive while the rest of his body was pale. The reason he had different colored skin was because of the day his mother poured gasoline on his legs and threw a lit match at him. He could only remember smelling his own burning flesh and feeling the most indescribable pain he's ever felt in his life, he couldn't even think as he writhed in pain. He remembered seeing smoke and red before it suddenly stopped, everything went black and when he woke up he was in his sisters room. Bandages covered his legs and he couldn't move, he was drowsy and numb. 

         Even though remains of his torture and abuse painted his skin, he made his own marks. His reflection taunted him in the mirror and in the shower, it looked disgusting to him. He got a sense of control when he dragged and dug that razor against his skin, he did it everywhere on his arms and legs. He found himself doing it more and more as his punishments got worse, the archive of marks and scars grew and grew more everyday. 

          Now he had another thing to add to the things he loved, something that made him happy and smile. Something that he cared for just as much as his sparkly angel. An object he thought of as a friend. 

That little razor.