BOV:
I was never good at walking…or even talking for that matter. I always got lost in meaningless thoughts that never would flow right together. There was always a redness covering my cheeks whenever I tried to untie my thoughts. There was always something in my way while trying to live a normal day. At the end of the day, my days would all look the same and things wouldn't be any different. My life was a boring book put on the back shelf of a library.
But I was always hoping that one day I would wake up and have a meaning. Something that made me wants to get out of bed. I started slipping into depression when I was fifteen years old because I finally realized that my life would always be a black lifeless hole. I would grow old without the happy memoires that come with normal life. There would be nothing amazing written about me in any book because there was nothing about me that was special. There would be nothing and that would be it. I'd fade like the sun on a cloudy day. But I wouldn't rise again, I'd just disappear.
I didn't have any need to grow older; I didn't have any ambitions for my life. At age sixteen, I watched my mother die by the hands of my stepfather. The images haunted me during the night and day during my entire sixteenth year. The days went by in blurs that were similar to nightmares. I would get glimpses of my mother's face as the knife entered her stomach. She disappeared that day and the only friend I ever had was gone. There was nothing left in my world. People came in to tell me that things would be better. I put on a smile just to get them out of the room and out of my head.
The people they sent always asked the questions that made you feel even more lifeless than before. The asked how you were and if your life choices were the right ones to make. How do you answer that with a serious face? No, how do you answer that at all? All they ever want to know is if you should be in special classes to deal with your problems. When you are put into those classes people know that you are from a troubled life or home. I didn't need any more attention.
I was thankful for when they pushed me to Forks, Washington. I got a chance to start over. They offered to put me in a small foster family because my dad wasn't always the most dependable guy. But I wanted to live with him because he didn't pay attention to things and wouldn't try hard to find things out. I needed to get away from people who always wanted to know my problems; so I did. I turned my back on heat and everything else that came with Arizona and let it go. I wouldn't miss it. I wouldn't miss the memories of the death of my mother constantly echoing my every move. I could be a ghost in the world. That's how my plan was set as I walked onto the plane and left everything behind.
I arrived after a few hours. The rain was coming down like my tears came down at night as I walked to my dad's car. Charlie had a sympathetic look on his face but he didn't speak a word. For that, he became my favorite person. I silently slipped into the car and went forward, holding two bags and my memories. There was nothing more to do in Forks than where I was from; just breathing.
I just never planned to see the age of eighteen. I promised myself that much.