Broken, chapter 1
This was the end.
What was the point in living if no one cared?
Why did it have to be this way?
So many questions without an answer.
Sammi sat on the park bench. Tears streaming down her face. Her step-dad had just done unspeakable things to her. She hated him. She hated life.
Sammi was a 16 year old girl. She lived with her mother and step-father. Her mother worked as a cleaner at Pinole Valley High School in Berkeley. Her step-dad on the other hand chose the occupation of un-employment. This consisted of drinking, smoking, lounging in front of the T.V, but worst of all in Sammi's opinon was sexually assaulting a 16 year old girl.
Sammi.
She had no brothers or sisters. No friends. Her mother hated her. Her step-father really hated her and she didn't even know who her real dad was. So she had no one to confide in.
She sat and looked at the stars. So small. So far away. It made Sammi feel alone even more.
She looked down at her wrists. So many scars. So many attempts.
But tonight would be the last attempt.
She had planned this too well.
Monday night. 3 a.m. No one would save her this time. No one would stop her before she could really hurt herself.
She took the pen-knife out of her pocket.
She took a shaky breath in and slowly exhaled as the shiny surface broke the skin.
She was broken.
This was the end.
Billie Joe walked out of 124 Gilman Street.
He smiled as he thought of his gig on Friday. It was gonna kick ass.
He threw his cigarette to the ground and carried on walking.
He was sober for a change.
His mom wanted him to think straight tomorrow, he was going to see Alan, his brother.
He lived ages away so it was his only chance to see him.
Billie caught his reflection in a nearby car.
His long, brown, curly hair surrounded most of his face. His green eyes looked back at him. He thought himself, "Okay looking," for a 17 year old punk, but girls thought otherwise.
Billie carried on walking. He decided to take a short cut home through the park. It was 3:15 am. He would not be mugged or attacked at this time.
He walked past the swings. Then the slide. Then the bench. Billie squinted at a lump on the bench.
"Just another hobo," he thought and carried on walking.
It was until the "lump" cried out in pain Billie decided to investigate. He walked up to the bench and got a shock of his life.
A young girl.
Bleeding from the wrist.
Dying.
What was the point in living if no one cared?
Why did it have to be this way?
So many questions without an answer.
Sammi sat on the park bench. Tears streaming down her face. Her step-dad had just done unspeakable things to her. She hated him. She hated life.
Sammi was a 16 year old girl. She lived with her mother and step-father. Her mother worked as a cleaner at Pinole Valley High School in Berkeley. Her step-dad on the other hand chose the occupation of un-employment. This consisted of drinking, smoking, lounging in front of the T.V, but worst of all in Sammi's opinon was sexually assaulting a 16 year old girl.
Sammi.
She had no brothers or sisters. No friends. Her mother hated her. Her step-father really hated her and she didn't even know who her real dad was. So she had no one to confide in.
She sat and looked at the stars. So small. So far away. It made Sammi feel alone even more.
She looked down at her wrists. So many scars. So many attempts.
But tonight would be the last attempt.
She had planned this too well.
Monday night. 3 a.m. No one would save her this time. No one would stop her before she could really hurt herself.
She took the pen-knife out of her pocket.
She took a shaky breath in and slowly exhaled as the shiny surface broke the skin.
She was broken.
This was the end.
Billie Joe walked out of 124 Gilman Street.
He smiled as he thought of his gig on Friday. It was gonna kick ass.
He threw his cigarette to the ground and carried on walking.
He was sober for a change.
His mom wanted him to think straight tomorrow, he was going to see Alan, his brother.
He lived ages away so it was his only chance to see him.
Billie caught his reflection in a nearby car.
His long, brown, curly hair surrounded most of his face. His green eyes looked back at him. He thought himself, "Okay looking," for a 17 year old punk, but girls thought otherwise.
Billie carried on walking. He decided to take a short cut home through the park. It was 3:15 am. He would not be mugged or attacked at this time.
He walked past the swings. Then the slide. Then the bench. Billie squinted at a lump on the bench.
"Just another hobo," he thought and carried on walking.
It was until the "lump" cried out in pain Billie decided to investigate. He walked up to the bench and got a shock of his life.
A young girl.
Bleeding from the wrist.
Dying.
