My name is Jenna and I have no place to call my own. I used
to have a home; I used to be happy - not any more. I am a hard-hearted girl, 14
years old, and I was rejected by the system. I hate being mean (it’s not who I
am), but you can’t be nice out here. If you’re kind, you don’t eat. It wasn’t
always like this. My family wasn’t kind to me, but it was better than this.
Hell, anything is better than this. I guess it all started a couple of years
ago.
It was my birthday. I wept silently into my arm while my
parents hurled abuse and obscenities at one another, their words like blows
that prompted each other to swing back. This happened most days; as far as I
knew, my life was the norm; I thought everyone had to put up with this. I was
so wrong.
I inched down the stairs, trying to listen, to see what the
problem was.
“You can’t do anything right, can you? I bet you didn’t even
know today was your daughter’s damn birthday!”
My mother’s words echoed in my mind. Birthday! They had
remembered!
I thundered down the stairs; my heart rose to the heavens. I
burst through the door, expecting a pile of presents. Instead, I had my dad’s
old bottle of self-brewed whisky hurled at my head. A shard of glass whistled
through my hair, just skimming my head. I turned and fled, running out of the
door, leaving behind the strife of my family life, and wishing to start anew.
What a fool I was.
So here I am. I sit on the streets, slowly fading away. Most
people simply despise me; to them I am a gutter child, feeding on their money.
Those who don’t despise me, only offer condolences, not help. This is why I am
ending it all- turning out the fading light. I am Jenna; I have been rejected
by society. This is my final farewell.
Written by Charles Masters 8D
Before I tell you my story, think about what you do when you
wake up in your bed. Do you straight away go on your electronics and consoles?
Do you have a lovely breakfast? Or do you wake up thanking God for what you
have, and praying for the less fortunate. I don’t think many of you picked
option three.
It’s completely different for me. I wake up begging God to
let me live another day. I am woken up at around five o’clock, by the sunrise
and the ringing of the bell in the giant clock tower at the top of the church.
I set out to search for my daily meal straight away, because another homeless
man lives around the corner.
Well - I say lives.
He struggles to survive in a giant rubbish bin. We both know
that there will always be competition between us. Sometimes he gets food, sometimes
I do. When I have found a small, half-eaten sandwich, I feel bad that he is
starving. But, after all, it is survival of the fittest.
So all you fortunate people, who feel that their life is the
worst it could be, please enjoy it, and remember me.
Written by Patrick Peterson 8D
No comments:
Post a Comment