.:Chapter 7: With Hope:.
.:Life at school was as awful as it was at home at times. I never fit in with anyone; my clothes were ragged and torn, my hair never perfect enough. I stopped caring about my appearance, stopped caring about everything --All I cared about was my never-ending desire for revenge on the ones who had hurt me most:.
.:Oh, pay they would! They would pay until they were thrown down into the darkest pit of everlasting hell! They would pay, pay, and pay for every rotten, evil thing they had ever done to hurt and humiliate me and Hope! I would see to it! I would die trying if I had to!:.
.:The only thing that brought me happiness was Hope's notebook of fantasies she had created just for me. Wild stories of princes and princesses who had to encounter evil witches and warlocks, dragons, and orges. Her fantasy stories inspired me to write:.
.:I had never done well in school, but after I began to write, I enjoyed it. Writing took me away from my shabby home and into the footsteps of the characters I created. My characters were not like Hope's. They were innocent children who grew up in lives of abuse, deciet, pure evil:.
.:Soon the entire world would wake up, realizing that many children were being abused to this very day. I would see that the whole world learned of the cruel ways some parents were, who would hurt their children in any way possible!:.
.:I kept my stories hidden along with Hope's notebook, determined to find a publisher who would one day help the world discover my books about the tortures some children faced day to day:.
.:I was beat up on at home, but no longer did Jim try to touch me other than in hitting me. He must have had a thing for young boys and girls, for he had stopped touching me since I turned fourteen. Mother was hardly ever home, getting herself drunk and ending up in other men's beds:.
.:Jim became angry at her sleeping with other men and not with him, so one day he took anything of value that was my mother's and left. She was too drunk to care when she returned home, but the moment she was sober, I was the one left to face her fury and wrath!:.
.:"You damn little bastard! Its your fault Jim up and left me!" Mother screamed at me when I returned home from school one day, throwing a lamp towards me. I ducked and heard it hit the wall, shattering into pieces:.
.:"It's your fault, not mine! Why would he leave because of me? I'm not married to him! He left because of you, and it's your fault hope is gone too!" I screamed:.
.:I watched as my mother's face grew unnaturally pale, her eyes glowing as she glared at me with pure, raw, hatred...:.
.:"I HATE YOU! I'VE ALWAYS HATED YOU! I WISH YOU'D NEVER BEEN BORN!" she screamed:.
.:"You and me both! I wish I was with my father! I know his last name is Casteel and I also know his first name is Luke. One day I am going to go find him and find the family I've always wanted!" I cried:.
.:She cruelly laughed...:.
.:"Have fun. No one wants you. You're pathetic and you'll always be that way," she snarled:.
.:I stalked off towards my room, getting out my tattered notebook and I began to furiously write. One day everyone who had hurt me would hurt ten times more than I did in the end. Their reputations would be put up on display, for I wasn't going to give them fake names when I published my life story. I would make up names for Hope and I, but not them, never them:.
.:Mother soon stopped coming home, and I never told anyone that she wasn't ever home. I had learned long ago how to forge her signature for my school reports. I graduated at the age of eighteen. I wasn't at the top of my class, but I wasn't at the bottom either:.
.:I'd never really had any friends; I usually had kept to myself, not wanting to involve anyone else in all of my troubles. Lots of the students I know would think my life was some horrible nightmare, too vivid and horrible to be reality. But I had learned throughout my life that life wasn't always a pretty picture. To me, life was a dark and depressing storm that seemed to rage on and on...and seemed to never end:.
.:I felt a small stab of loneliness when I walked across the stage, for everything was silent. No family and friends had came to see me graduate; no invitations had been mailed off...I bit down on my feelings, forcing them back down into the darkness where they belonged. What good had self pity ever done for me?:.
.:On the day I graduated, I got what little possessions I owned and put them in a suitcase before I left the house that had held so many horrors for me and my sister Hope. Never again would I have to see the poor little house that was stained with many bad and good memories:.
.:I had Hope's notebook and my own, and I was ready to let the whole world know about the ways some parents turned out to be. I didn't have much money, but I would get a job, and I'd be lucky if I ever turned out all right. But I had hope...:.
.:Life at school was as awful as it was at home at times. I never fit in with anyone; my clothes were ragged and torn, my hair never perfect enough. I stopped caring about my appearance, stopped caring about everything --All I cared about was my never-ending desire for revenge on the ones who had hurt me most:.
.:Oh, pay they would! They would pay until they were thrown down into the darkest pit of everlasting hell! They would pay, pay, and pay for every rotten, evil thing they had ever done to hurt and humiliate me and Hope! I would see to it! I would die trying if I had to!:.
.:The only thing that brought me happiness was Hope's notebook of fantasies she had created just for me. Wild stories of princes and princesses who had to encounter evil witches and warlocks, dragons, and orges. Her fantasy stories inspired me to write:.
.:I had never done well in school, but after I began to write, I enjoyed it. Writing took me away from my shabby home and into the footsteps of the characters I created. My characters were not like Hope's. They were innocent children who grew up in lives of abuse, deciet, pure evil:.
.:Soon the entire world would wake up, realizing that many children were being abused to this very day. I would see that the whole world learned of the cruel ways some parents were, who would hurt their children in any way possible!:.
.:I kept my stories hidden along with Hope's notebook, determined to find a publisher who would one day help the world discover my books about the tortures some children faced day to day:.
.:I was beat up on at home, but no longer did Jim try to touch me other than in hitting me. He must have had a thing for young boys and girls, for he had stopped touching me since I turned fourteen. Mother was hardly ever home, getting herself drunk and ending up in other men's beds:.
.:Jim became angry at her sleeping with other men and not with him, so one day he took anything of value that was my mother's and left. She was too drunk to care when she returned home, but the moment she was sober, I was the one left to face her fury and wrath!:.
.:"You damn little bastard! Its your fault Jim up and left me!" Mother screamed at me when I returned home from school one day, throwing a lamp towards me. I ducked and heard it hit the wall, shattering into pieces:.
.:"It's your fault, not mine! Why would he leave because of me? I'm not married to him! He left because of you, and it's your fault hope is gone too!" I screamed:.
.:I watched as my mother's face grew unnaturally pale, her eyes glowing as she glared at me with pure, raw, hatred...:.
.:"I HATE YOU! I'VE ALWAYS HATED YOU! I WISH YOU'D NEVER BEEN BORN!" she screamed:.
.:"You and me both! I wish I was with my father! I know his last name is Casteel and I also know his first name is Luke. One day I am going to go find him and find the family I've always wanted!" I cried:.
.:She cruelly laughed...:.
.:"Have fun. No one wants you. You're pathetic and you'll always be that way," she snarled:.
.:I stalked off towards my room, getting out my tattered notebook and I began to furiously write. One day everyone who had hurt me would hurt ten times more than I did in the end. Their reputations would be put up on display, for I wasn't going to give them fake names when I published my life story. I would make up names for Hope and I, but not them, never them:.
.:Mother soon stopped coming home, and I never told anyone that she wasn't ever home. I had learned long ago how to forge her signature for my school reports. I graduated at the age of eighteen. I wasn't at the top of my class, but I wasn't at the bottom either:.
.:I'd never really had any friends; I usually had kept to myself, not wanting to involve anyone else in all of my troubles. Lots of the students I know would think my life was some horrible nightmare, too vivid and horrible to be reality. But I had learned throughout my life that life wasn't always a pretty picture. To me, life was a dark and depressing storm that seemed to rage on and on...and seemed to never end:.
.:I felt a small stab of loneliness when I walked across the stage, for everything was silent. No family and friends had came to see me graduate; no invitations had been mailed off...I bit down on my feelings, forcing them back down into the darkness where they belonged. What good had self pity ever done for me?:.
.:On the day I graduated, I got what little possessions I owned and put them in a suitcase before I left the house that had held so many horrors for me and my sister Hope. Never again would I have to see the poor little house that was stained with many bad and good memories:.
.:I had Hope's notebook and my own, and I was ready to let the whole world know about the ways some parents turned out to be. I didn't have much money, but I would get a job, and I'd be lucky if I ever turned out all right. But I had hope...:.