One Step

It's time. That's it. Come on. You can do it. It's just one step. One step and it'll all be over. One step and it'll be done. One step and its finished. 

*

I woke up that morning and instantly knew that it was time. Today it could finally be over. Today I would finally do it. There was no point putting it off any longer. May as well get it over and done with. I sat up on my make shift bed of cardboard and a thin scratchy blanket that I had found in a bin behind a warehouse. I threw the blanket to the side. I wouldn't need it anymore. I rubbed my eyes, attempting to clear my blurred vision that was a result of my bad eyesight. Bad eyesight that could be easily corrected with glasses. However I couldn't afford them so every morning I go through the same routine of sitting there for about 10 minutes rubbing my eyes and allowing them to adjust to the dim light. My stomach rumbled and I realised that I hadn't eaten for the past 2 days. I grabbed my backpack that I had been using as a pillow and rifled through it trying to find some food that I was sure I had put in here for situations like this when I hadn't been able to find anything to eat or drink. After emptying and searching through the bag and its measly contents, I eventually found a breakfast bar that was probably months out of date but food is food and I wasn't in the position to be picky. After I had devoured the bar, I tossed the wrapper over my shoulder and put my few belongings back into the bag - apart from my book. It may not have looked special to everyone else but it was the most precious thing I owned. Ever since I was a little boy I had wanted to be an author and having this book allowed me to attempt to keep that dream alive. I flicked through the worn out pages of the book and thought about the first thing I had ever written, back when I was 8 and still living with my 'parents'. I say 'parents' because although they were my biological mother and father they did not act like it and were more like random strangers who were forced to take care of me and my brother. He was the only reason I stayed with them for as long as I did. I only left when he was able to take care of himself and I knew he would be alright. My brother, Isaac, was 13 when I left. Although he had only just become a teenager, I had prepared him for this. He knew that I was going to leave. I had told him when he was 12 and he understood without me having to explain anything. He saw how they treated me. He knew how much they hated me. He knew that this was coming. Although they never did anything to him I still didn't want to leave until I was absolutely sure that he would be able to defend himself and until I had enough money to give him, just in case he needed it. Isaac was more mature than other 13 year old boys and so when it was time for me to leave he just gave me a hug and told me to take care of myself. I told him that I would come back for him when I had a place where we could both live and be happy. I don't know how long we stood there in each others arms, but it was not long enough. Every night I fall asleep with the image of him as a happy playful baby in my head. My happy, beautiful baby brother.