To Be or Not To Be? That is the Question.

Chapter 1

No, I didn't have a father who abused me, or a single mother that got drunk and hated me. When school would end, I would walk a couple blocks to my foster care home. Apparently when I was younger, my mother had left me on their doorstep. Neither my foster mom, or the other children that lived there even spared me a glance. I had no clue why, but I remembered my foster mom mumbling words how I was similar to a gremlin. That night I cried and it wasn't the last.

Every night, I would cry out of anger at myself and the people around me for not caring. They didn't show me love and or even an ounce of liking me for me... Maybe that is because I was never allowed that opportunity to even be introduced to someone. Whether it be in class or somewhere else, I was always alone.

"Hey ugly Betty, when will you stop crying in the corner? You're so disgusting, it's not even funny." Daniella's voice yelled out from the stage and telling by the salty taste that was on my lips, I was in fact crying. I hadn't even noticed. Wiping my eyes, since they were all blurry, I was quick to make everything more clear.

I sniffed as I heard the whole class laughing at me, all looking towards me with either faces of disgust or hatred. Then I heard Frita's frilly voice cry out, "Yeah, why don't you like... Kill yourself or something?" Her laugh followed after along with my sobs.

I jumped up out of my seat as people snorted in laughter, pointing at me as I left the auditorium. "She has no life, I feel so bad!" I heard someone sarcastically say with a sympathetic tone, "Ha! Not!"

As soon as the doors slammed shut behind me, I could still hear the ringing of their amusement from out in the hallway. Stomping away with my worn out book bag, slung over my shoulders, I thought about going outside and skip the rest of my classes. This usually happened every day, the names, I mean. But, whenever I cried in front of anybody they would tell me something of the lines to kill myself. That was constantly on my mind all the time and I wanted to agree with it. Yet, I always wondered what would my future be like? Would it be better than what my crappy life was now, or worse?

Running outside, if life could be any worse, it suddenly started to drizzle rain. Oh great, I thought as I made my way down the school sidewalk that led to the ghetto streets. I didn't live in the rich part of town where most of my school lived, mostly because the foster care I was in didn't have money. They were running low on it, since my foster mom always took most of the money from the state and used it for her own expensive clothing. All her shopping sprees to the new boutique that opened up down the street resulted in the bills not always being paid for.

I depended on myself for food and when I couldn't eat food, I didn't. The only money I could possibly get was from the Deli that I worked at, part-time of course. Time to time, because the Deli was always being robbed, I wasn't given a pay check since the owner didn't have it. It was illegal, yes, but it was also illegal to be working there in the first place. I was supposed to be 16 to be working there, but I was only 15. I would be turning the age of sixteen in about four months from today and I couldn't be more enthusiastic.

I laughed to myself, wondering why I was being sarcastic and telling myself all these crazy things. Of course I wasn't enthusiastic. I was dreading the day it would come, because by then I would be older. I would be older and that would make my foster mom come to me and practically force me to give her money. She had told me once, when she found out about my job, that every single penny I would make from that place would be hers. It would all be hers since she has connections and the fact that I was living under her roof. I knew she would just use it for herself and maybe for to pay for the bills, but what would I survive on? Nothing was always my answer whenever I thought of that question. I think by then, I would already be dead.

Why? Because my emotions would be on a high by themselves. In my mind, I knew that by then, I would probably make sure that before my birthday, as my own early birthday present was to take a life. But not just any life- my own. It's sick. That's probably what others would say if they could read my mind, but to me it was like the first relief or miracle that would happen for the first time in years. A long time ago, I thought that Daniella was the 'miracle' of my life, but now fast forward in time- she was the complete opposite. I believe that once she left me and knew that I was just an ugly plain person, that something just snapped in her when she found new friends. I was always her bullying victim and she made sure to let her friends in on the fun. Eventually, everyone knew me as their own walking punching bag. I deserved all the pent up frustrations that others had in them, and they took it out on me.

Everyday I cursed myself for being so weak! The drizzling rain from before had in seconds, started to pour from the dark clouds above my head. "Damn." I whispered, wishing that I had some sort of better clothing than the ones I wore. I didn't have a jacket on or a coat. It was just a plain sweater, and holey jeans, all matched with my white nurse shoes- all bought from Walmart. It was the only place I could afford, owning only four outfits.

Running to the hide out that I found two years ago, the one that I would always sneak to when I was just beaten up or just upset, I made it there within five minutes. I ran the whole way and after when I checked around for any bystanders, I threw the door open and shut it closed behind me. I glanced around the room for intruders, since that had happened once before, I instantly relaxed when I saw no danger. There was musty, decaying couch sitting smack in the middle of the small room and I almost leaped over to it. My legs were aching, as my stomach felt like it was eating itself alive, which was because I was so hungry. Not eating for almost two days does that to you.

I threw all of my wet school stuff on the dusty floor. I didn't go on the couch yet because I wanted to clean my wounds that I had earned from the other day with the bucket of water I left here, the last time I visited. I ripped at my shirt until I made a decent sized cloth that could clean all of the dry blood off my white skin. Hissing a little when I started on the ones that opened up on my way here, I slowly made my way through the cleaning process. Gently, I pressed on each cut and bruise I had with the damp cloth until I felt it was enough. When I was finished, which I was glad for, I went to the couch. Lying down, I looked forward to a deep sleep that would help me get rid of the bad memories and thoughts that always lurked in my mind. Before my eyes shut, I silently sent a prayer to god, hoping that someone or something would help me with my terrible life and create it into a less depressing one.