Who am I?
My name is Daniel Fitzpatrick and I am seventeen years old. I live with my mother and step father, although I don't see my mum much as she spends most of her time working so the majority of my days are spent with the step father. He's not a very nice person, he likes to push me around. Hits me a couple of times too. I have the bruises to prove it. Tells me not to tell my mother as 'it'll only upset her'. He believes he's doing right.
He doesn't think for a second that I'll fight back. Perhaps I won't. Perhaps I'll take it. He also likes to remind me that my real father is dead. I don't know why, I guess he's just twisted like that.
Then we have school. School isn't entirely pleasant either. I've spent the majority of my school life getting bullied, particularly by Tyler's group. They seem to think I'm an easy target. I try not to let them get to me, but it's not easy you know? Mind you, who ever said life would be easy?
When I was five, my father died. He worked as a fireman. I remembered his last night. He got called in for an emergency. I didn't want him to go, I still remember the way I wrapped my arms around his leg, pleaded him to stay. He just kissed me on my forehead and told me he'd see me later. I just had to wait for him. And that's what I did. For the rest of the day. I waited, and waited and waited. Until we got that call. The one from the police.
I guess you could say my life isn't exactly perfect, but then again who's is? Really?
Still, I just wish for it all to end. I can't stay strong anymore. I can't stay brave. This facade that I've so carefully moulded to cover what I'm truly feeling is breaking, I can feel it. I can feel the seams slipping away from my finger tips. It's not going to be much longer before it disappears entirely.
Every day I wish for death.
I looked at what I'd written.
Carefully picked up my eraser, scrubbed it all out until tiny bits of rubber dotted the now blank paper.
Then I wrote what they really wanted to hear.