Our class made a piece of writing by looking at a picture and jot down all the things we noticed I went for a sad story called long living this is it.
I stood there. With my shoulder blades leaning the wire like laying a blanket on a washing line. I can see them, those big kids talking on the bridge, but they can’t see me. I just stayed where I was. They don’t care. A voice then spoke it sounded familiar. ‘You’re useless,’ then I knew that was just me. ‘I don’t care what anyone says to me, they’ll always be right,’ I mouthed to myself.
As I kept on cursing to myself, every once in awhile I felt the chance. The chance where I can stand up to my brother and all his friends. I could see the dead, wasteland-like leaves blow though the cold air and the skeletal trees lurching over the land. It was God. Until just when I was ready to stand up, it stopped. Like no-one cares about me. Every sudden move I make, I feel like it disturbs the whole environment.
While the brown leaves obscured my new sneakers, it reminded me of dad. Where is he when I need him. He told my older brother to look after me but he didn’t he chooses social more than his family.
I don’t want anything or anyone to put me down. I’m like a rabbit buried alive in its burrow. But then. I finally dig out from my imprisonment exposed to all my surroundings.
‘Who cares what they think of me!’ I said almost shouting it out but I didn’t want to carry it too far.
I’m going to go up to them and correct my brother. He needs to think about family not friends. ‘Who cares if I get embarrassed!’ I said. ‘I’m ready.’