This was a story I wrote for my Creative Writing Class in high school. It's really depressing...not gunna lie....
Saved
It was 3 a.m. and the streets were ghostly vacant, except for a few homeless people huddled under blankets in attempt to block out the cold fall wind. I held my cigarette to my lips and inhaled a long, final drag before I flicked the cigarette butt into a nearby sewage drain. I pulled my jacket closer to my body and shivered, suddenly cold from the steady wind blowing against my frail body. I enjoyed the cold. Feeling the coolness on my skin and feeling my muscle contract in attempts to keep warm was the only thing that could keep my mind from racing, even if just for a moment.
It was late (or should I say early?) and I was walking the city streets aimlessly, with no known destination and not a care for my own safety. I had been walking for what seemed like days, but in reality it had only been an hour since I left the warm apartment in attempts to escape his shouts. But even though the apartment was miles behind me and his shouts shielded by closed doors, I could still hear every word he said echoing in my head.
“Worthless! You’re worthless! All you do is eat all my food in my goddamn apartment and then hide in the bathrooms puking it back up. You’re disgusting and worthless. You’re lucky to have me, no one else would put up with your shit!”
I began to feel dizzy as I replayed his words over and over in my mind. Worthless. Disgusting. Worthless. Disgusting. Suddenly I could feel a sweat break out on my forehead, despite the cool breeze, and I began to feel nauseous. My stomach began to twist and turn, pushing bile up my throat. I ran into a nearby alley and let my insides escape out of my mouth. Tears began to roll down my cheeks as what seemed like a mixture of coffee and blood surged out of my stomach and splashed onto the pavement. There was no solid food to be found in my regurgitation, for I had forbidden myself from my disgusting habit of eating his food and purging every bit of it into his white porcelain toilet. In attempts to punish myself for my worthless, disgusting habits I vowed to ingest nothing but coffee and water. The blood, however, did not worry me. The first time I noticed blood in my vomit, I had panicked and told him I thought I was dying. He had slapped me, called me a moron, and refused to take me to a doctor. Eventually, the sight of blood didn’t faze me. In fact, I had convinced myself that everybody pukes up blood, that I was completely normal.
However, in the back of my mind, I knew my body was slowly breaking down. My bleach blonde hair was thinning and my entire body ached. My bright green eyes had become dull and sunken in, no longer glowing with enthusiasm as they once did. I was constantly throwing up, even when it wasn’t intentional, and my throat was red and sore all of the time. I used to have a bright white smile that would light up any room, but my teeth were decaying and had recently turned a bright yellow hue from a mixture of coffee, cigarettes and stomach acid. My bones jutted out at awkward angles in my short five foot, two inch, 95 pound skeletal frame. I was one giant bruise, from his constant “love taps” and angry shoves.
“If you walk out that door, don’t come back. You can live on the goddamn streets for all I care. It’s where you belong. You’re filthy.”
I shook my head as if I could shake his voice from my thoughts, but they remained, gnawing at my soul. I finally wiped the remains of vomit off my lips on to my coat sleeve, and shoved my hands in my pocket as I left the alley, my heart cold and my stomach empty.
I had no place to go. No one to call. After the fall out with my family, I had moved in with him in the city. Eventually, however, things turned from bad to worse. At first it was just hurtful words, but it soon escalated into hostile shoves and angry slaps across the face. I stayed around because if I didn’t have him, I didn’t have anyone. My family disapproved of us because of the age difference (him being 28 while I am only 18), and after finding me passed out on the bathroom floor from a mixture of alcohol and some pill he had given me (he said it would get rid of my headache, and I guess it did), they refused to allow me to see him anymore. That was when I packed up my things and moved into his small one bedroom apartment. That’s when I began using food as a means of control. That’s when my life became meaningless, and empty.
All I have is him.
Tears streamed down my pale, freckled cheeks at this thought. It was right then, at that moment walking through the streets of the dimly lit city that I realized that he was gone, and there was no one left. I was weak, both physically and mentally, and now I was alone. Life had become a meaningless painful event, and I wanted out.
I continued walking, listening to the crunch of fall leaves beneath my feet. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going, but I knew in the back of my mind what I was about to do. There was nothing left for me here.
He was right…I am worthless.
I moved briskly, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead of me. I wandered my way through the streets, shivering once again, this time out of excitement. As I walked through a nearby park I noticed a woman curled up under bits of clothe and newspaper, shivering and moaning in the cold moonlight. I stopped for a moment, unzipped my warm coat, and laid it over her shivering body. She stopped shivering, and began to snore lightly.
Enjoy the warmth while you can have it. I won’t be needing it.
I continued walking towards a bridge which loomed over dark water. The sound or the water hitting against rocks and speeding down stream in a fast current gave my skin goose bumps. I stood silent on the bridge, looking up at the dark, starless sky. I felt a tear drip down my cheek, but I didn’t feel sad. I felt relieved, numb to my normally aching body, vacant of all thought.
I climbed on the ledge of the bridge, but I didn’t look down at the water. Instead I stared straight ahead into an abyss of darkness and lost hopes. The night breeze brushed softly against my cheek, like a cool hand of death, beckoning me.
“Goodbye,” I whispered, and took in a deep breath.
Suddenly, I felt my pocket vibrating. It was as if my mind had been dragged out of a horrible dream and back into consciousness. I began to shake as I reached for my cell phone. To my disbelief, the caller ID flashed one comforting word: HOME.
Shaky and nauseous, I made my way off the ledge of the bridge. I could feel hot tears stream down my face as I flipped open the phone.
I sobbed into the phone, unable to control the sudden rush of emotion. Every muscle in my body ached, and I found myself paralyzed on the cold ground.
“Oh no. What happened? Are you OK?” I heard my Mom’s voice ask in fear.
“Mommy…” I squeaked out between heavy sobs. “Mommy. Come get me. I’m cold.”
It was 3 a.m. and the streets were ghostly vacant, except for a few homeless people huddled under blankets in attempt to block out the cold fall wind. I held my cigarette to my lips and inhaled a long, final drag before I flicked the cigarette butt into a nearby sewage drain. I pulled my jacket closer to my body and shivered, suddenly cold from the steady wind blowing against my frail body. I enjoyed the cold. Feeling the coolness on my skin and feeling my muscle contract in attempts to keep warm was the only thing that could keep my mind from racing, even if just for a moment.
It was late (or should I say early?) and I was walking the city streets aimlessly, with no known destination and not a care for my own safety. I had been walking for what seemed like days, but in reality it had only been an hour since I left the warm apartment in attempts to escape his shouts. But even though the apartment was miles behind me and his shouts shielded by closed doors, I could still hear every word he said echoing in my head.
“Worthless! You’re worthless! All you do is eat all my food in my goddamn apartment and then hide in the bathrooms puking it back up. You’re disgusting and worthless. You’re lucky to have me, no one else would put up with your shit!”
I began to feel dizzy as I replayed his words over and over in my mind. Worthless. Disgusting. Worthless. Disgusting. Suddenly I could feel a sweat break out on my forehead, despite the cool breeze, and I began to feel nauseous. My stomach began to twist and turn, pushing bile up my throat. I ran into a nearby alley and let my insides escape out of my mouth. Tears began to roll down my cheeks as what seemed like a mixture of coffee and blood surged out of my stomach and splashed onto the pavement. There was no solid food to be found in my regurgitation, for I had forbidden myself from my disgusting habit of eating his food and purging every bit of it into his white porcelain toilet. In attempts to punish myself for my worthless, disgusting habits I vowed to ingest nothing but coffee and water. The blood, however, did not worry me. The first time I noticed blood in my vomit, I had panicked and told him I thought I was dying. He had slapped me, called me a moron, and refused to take me to a doctor. Eventually, the sight of blood didn’t faze me. In fact, I had convinced myself that everybody pukes up blood, that I was completely normal.
However, in the back of my mind, I knew my body was slowly breaking down. My bleach blonde hair was thinning and my entire body ached. My bright green eyes had become dull and sunken in, no longer glowing with enthusiasm as they once did. I was constantly throwing up, even when it wasn’t intentional, and my throat was red and sore all of the time. I used to have a bright white smile that would light up any room, but my teeth were decaying and had recently turned a bright yellow hue from a mixture of coffee, cigarettes and stomach acid. My bones jutted out at awkward angles in my short five foot, two inch, 95 pound skeletal frame. I was one giant bruise, from his constant “love taps” and angry shoves.
“If you walk out that door, don’t come back. You can live on the goddamn streets for all I care. It’s where you belong. You’re filthy.”
I shook my head as if I could shake his voice from my thoughts, but they remained, gnawing at my soul. I finally wiped the remains of vomit off my lips on to my coat sleeve, and shoved my hands in my pocket as I left the alley, my heart cold and my stomach empty.
I had no place to go. No one to call. After the fall out with my family, I had moved in with him in the city. Eventually, however, things turned from bad to worse. At first it was just hurtful words, but it soon escalated into hostile shoves and angry slaps across the face. I stayed around because if I didn’t have him, I didn’t have anyone. My family disapproved of us because of the age difference (him being 28 while I am only 18), and after finding me passed out on the bathroom floor from a mixture of alcohol and some pill he had given me (he said it would get rid of my headache, and I guess it did), they refused to allow me to see him anymore. That was when I packed up my things and moved into his small one bedroom apartment. That’s when I began using food as a means of control. That’s when my life became meaningless, and empty.
All I have is him.
Tears streamed down my pale, freckled cheeks at this thought. It was right then, at that moment walking through the streets of the dimly lit city that I realized that he was gone, and there was no one left. I was weak, both physically and mentally, and now I was alone. Life had become a meaningless painful event, and I wanted out.
I continued walking, listening to the crunch of fall leaves beneath my feet. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going, but I knew in the back of my mind what I was about to do. There was nothing left for me here.
He was right…I am worthless.
I moved briskly, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead of me. I wandered my way through the streets, shivering once again, this time out of excitement. As I walked through a nearby park I noticed a woman curled up under bits of clothe and newspaper, shivering and moaning in the cold moonlight. I stopped for a moment, unzipped my warm coat, and laid it over her shivering body. She stopped shivering, and began to snore lightly.
Enjoy the warmth while you can have it. I won’t be needing it.
I continued walking towards a bridge which loomed over dark water. The sound or the water hitting against rocks and speeding down stream in a fast current gave my skin goose bumps. I stood silent on the bridge, looking up at the dark, starless sky. I felt a tear drip down my cheek, but I didn’t feel sad. I felt relieved, numb to my normally aching body, vacant of all thought.
I climbed on the ledge of the bridge, but I didn’t look down at the water. Instead I stared straight ahead into an abyss of darkness and lost hopes. The night breeze brushed softly against my cheek, like a cool hand of death, beckoning me.
“Goodbye,” I whispered, and took in a deep breath.
Suddenly, I felt my pocket vibrating. It was as if my mind had been dragged out of a horrible dream and back into consciousness. I began to shake as I reached for my cell phone. To my disbelief, the caller ID flashed one comforting word: HOME.
Shaky and nauseous, I made my way off the ledge of the bridge. I could feel hot tears stream down my face as I flipped open the phone.
I sobbed into the phone, unable to control the sudden rush of emotion. Every muscle in my body ached, and I found myself paralyzed on the cold ground.
“Oh no. What happened? Are you OK?” I heard my Mom’s voice ask in fear.
“Mommy…” I squeaked out between heavy sobs. “Mommy. Come get me. I’m cold.”
