Truth About Adrian
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- Votes 80
- Parts 7
Ongoing33m
Last published Fri, Mar 20, 2020
Adrian lit the cigarette, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before he let out a sigh exhaling the smoke. He watched the smoke cloud surround him, tears welling in his eyes making it impossible to see. He sat there; quiet his brothers by his side before the tears fell from his eyes cascading down his cheeks like a river. "I just want to be happy, you know? It's like I'm being chained up by my own thoughts in this dark room and I'm screaming for help. Nobody can hear me. I'm waiting for happiness, freedom. It's like I can see it, its there just staring at me through the open door but it ignores my cry for help. I don't know what to do. To be free, and maybe I'm not supposed to be free, maybe this is all I'll ever know, I've given up on hope, hope just watches me sit here as I dying inside."
By one glance you'd think that Adrian was one of those happy go lucky people that you saw on the movies. Always laughing, joking around. The truth is, Adrian was depressed.
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#296
timothee
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I was kicked around like trash on the streets. I was the book that nobody could understand or read, but without a care, they were quick to rip out the pages. I screamed for attention, but time after time, I was ignored. Nobody noticed me, so I made myself at home in my own shadow. They say there's light at the end of the tunnel -- I searched and searched for it, but it could never be found. Therefore, I lost hope as I hid in the shade and endured what seemed like everlasting pain. The little hope I did have was snatched from my arms. My baby brother was my life, and they took my glimpse of hope away. Home. Is that a word? Maybe for a family of some kind, but for me, I never had a place to call home. I moved from place to place. Unstable foster care, fighting for my life in group homes, barely surviving in detention centers, and running away from being mistreated as I made many benches my temporary home. The only thing that I was familiar with was a black plastic bag containing my dirty rags. I am too young to know what it feels like to survive. These are the cards life has dealt me and I am not meant to win; however, I easily lose without trying. It is hard for me to find peace. I am paying for my mother's reckless actions. I am trapped in a world where the sun has died because I am unable to feel love. I am unable to dream. Sorrow is my aura, and the sadness hugs me. My eyes are closed shut by the barbed wire fence from my eyelashes as they prohibit tears from falling. I am damaged. When will the morning come? Did the sun put up a fight last night, like I do every single day? If I can survive the day, I know the sun isn't dead. One day, I will awake to a glorious sunrise. Until then, I hope my brother keeps blowing his pinwheel, and I will keep making wishes with every dandelion I come across. For now, all I know is that everything was taken from me, and the only thing I own is my name.
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