The Letter

"To whoever is reading this,

I no longer want to be part of this sad long existence that most people call "life". Most people enjoy it, but me? No. That stopped a long time ago. Life no longer has the ability to excite nor thrill me as it used to. Once dad died, life changed, mum changed...

I changed.

The only person who has remained normal is Anna. Sweet, lovely Anna. When dad died, she was only eight years old; she didn't fully understand what was happening. Dad was "with the angels". I honestly wished I was that young when it happened, then I would still have those precious memories left. However, my thoughts haven't been precious or pure in a long time.

I was twelve when he died, so I obviously understood every last detail of his gruesome death. He was murdered; we didn't find this out until after the funeral though. Sitting there at the service, listening to strangers talk about my dad, it bothered me. After the service random people I hadn't met and distance relatives told me I was the "Man of the house" and I would have to "look after my sister and mother". I don't think they realised how much of that I would be doing for the next 5 years.

As I said my dad was murdered, he was a businessman. Apparently a somewhat dodgy one from what my mother had screamed in her drunken rages. He'd got a lot of money and the people he got it from, didn't like that. So they dealt with it. I won't go into the details of his death, as I don't know who will end up reading this letter. All you need to know is that there was blood, and a lot of it.

The people who murdered him escaped and hadn't been seen since; we got moved far away from family and friends, in case they came looking for us. We had to move to Nottingham in England, a far and unnatural world from my home back in Glasgow. Our second names got changed and we kept ourselves to ourselves.

During the first couple months of our stay in England, that's when my mother turned into an alcoholic. It was slow at first, maybe a glass of wine a day, but it progressed further and further until she was never sober and was always a drunken mess.

That's when I started properly being "the man of the house". I had to shop for food, get a paper run to provide money as my mum hadn't bothered and look after Anna.

I tried to keep Anna away from mum, away from the abuse. That meant I got extra beatings, but it was worth it to give Anna the childhood she both wanted and deserved.

When I was 14, my mother discovered drugs. Her abuse got worse, and I couldn't keep Anna from it. I didn't know what else to do, and when one of the neighbours heard Anna screaming while I was at the shops, Social Services came, and I haven't seen Anna since then. I get to phone her once a week, but it isn't enough. I haven't seen her in three years, she got taken back up North and I'm here with mum.

I struggled with household tasks like ironing and washing, as Anna had always helped with them. Mum started spending all the money we had on drugs and alcohol, leaving us without electricity and heating. Not that she noticed, she was always at her boyfriend, Steve's house. He got her into the heavy drugs that made her worse. She would laugh as he hit me with his belt, enjoying every minute of it.

Due to the lack of electricity, I couldn't wash my clothes properly. I had to wash them in the bathroom sink with cold water and a bar of soap. This didn't go down well with the kids at school; I was tormented and bullied for the way I dressed and the smell that wafted off me. I couldn't blame them really, I was a mess.

That didn't make it easier, life at home, and life at school. It's just as bad. That's why I draw, it gets my emotions out. My pictures weren't happy go lucky rainbows; they were deep morbid images dark and bloody. Just like my emotions.

A boy from school, Ricky Martins, stole my school bag and found the drawings last month. The bullying has got worse since then. I don't want to face that anymore.

Nothing positive is happening in my life. I don't have friends who care, a family who is proud or a girlfriend who loves me. I want those things in my life.

I want to have friends to play Xbox with, to be on the football team and look at pretty girls.

I want my father to still be alive, I want my mother to gossip to other mums about their sons bad habits and I want Anna to be here, annoying me and my friends.

I want a girlfriend, someone to hold when I need it, someone to show off and someone to love me as much as I love them.

That isn't the life I have.

That isn't the life I deserve.

I deserve to get beaten, I deserve to be starved, and I deserve to get bullied.

At seventeen years old, I deserve death.

Death, that's a funny word to think of. Before all of this, I always thought of death being something that happens to old people when they are past their prime, when they can't hear or think properly anymore.

But then my dad got murdered. He wasn't even forty, since then death has been a completely different thing. It seemed horrid and brutal. Now death just means away out of a sad existence.

I am alone in this world; I am alone in this universe. I hoped you enjoyed this letter, the story of a lonely guy, the story of a lonely guy called Adam. I'm sure this letter will be read by many different people, police, my mother, maybe even my fellow pupils at school. I'm not blaming you for what happened; you just helped me discover what I wanted out of life.

To get out of life.

It's funny how I can still crack jokes, looking up above me, what's there... It's not a joke. I'm going to stop writing now, because frankly, my arm is sore, and my pen is running out of ink. I don't suspect anyone will be at my funeral, if I even have one... But I have one wish anyway.

Don't mourn me, you didn't care when I was alive, and I certainly do not want your pity now that I'm dead.

Goodbye suckers,

Adam Evans.

1997-2014"

Adams girlfriend, Jenna sat on the edge of his bed letting the tears pour out of her eyes as she read her boyfriend's letter. He had warned her of the things going on inside his head, of the weird things he could hear. She told him he was up playing Xbox to all hours with his best friend, Ricky Martin and that he needed some sleep. That was only last week, but in his head, he had created this entire alter-ego for himself and he had killed himself because of that, if only she listened when he told her...

It was too late now.