Welcome to Hell, How May I Help You? {Watty Awards 2012}

I missed being a kid. You could have any ideas you want, and none of them were to outrageous to be true. I remember being asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I said I wanted to be an Astronaut. Seems so silly now. Now all I want is to have my childhood. I'm only fifteen and I know too much about the horrid world I live in. All the terrible people and the evil minds that plague the souls of the innocent; all I want is not to be one of them. With knowledge comes pain. So much pain. I just want it to end and leave me alone.

I was only a girl; a helpless little girl, forced to grow up too quick. I never knew that your heart could feel so heavy or that your mind could avert your body and make you do things you don't ever want to do. What I would give to go back. I'd give so much for the pain to go away. I guess I need to start at the beginning to figure out where this pain came from.

I was born so small; they never thought I'd make it. I was too small to even breathe on my own. I made it. My mother constantly called me her "Little miracle." If only she knew the hell my life became because of that "miracle" and how I was lost in my own head. I had no idea how to deal with it all now, but that's beside the point. I grew up happy and healthy; like I never died. I wasn't normal though. I talked to people that weren't there; people who told me about what life was like a hundred years ago. They told me stories, sang me to sleep when I wouldn't sleep. I loved them. One day they had to leave me. I never saw them after that. Flash to age 6. Moving away from the only home I knew into a new house. Not fun.

I looked at the room I was given; it seemed huge at the time. Now it was crammed to the max with all my odd interests. The walls were painted from the sickly green they were to a perky pink colour. I thought it was amazing. My older sister lived in the bedroom in the basement. She was fourteen when we moved in. We played the part of the happy little family so well in that new house. It seemed perfect. In the two years that followed in my time to becoming eight years old, I was introduced to History and writing. I grew to have my mixed feelings about it.

When I was eight, and my sister was sixteen she left. No one would give me a straight answer. I started to see my parents fight then. I realized that all that was what my sister was hiding. She hid the fights from me. My mom started leaving in the middle of the night and coming back early in the morning. I was worried. It stopped just as it started. The calm around a storm. I thought it was over.

It wasn't. I learned quickly just to shut up and listen to my parents. Nothing I said went through to them. They didn't listen to me, well, my mom didn't anyway. My dad was always working while my mom just sat at home soaking up the rays of relaxation. It really sickened me. I was only ten when it all happened.

Nothing was good enough. I always had to be reading, studying, or doing homework. I had no time to do what I wanted. When I entered middle school, all my mom wanted to see were A's. My dad was never home anymore. He was always working to pay the bills. I felt alone once I reached seventh grade. My best friend left me for no apparent reason, taking all my other friends with her. I had a psuedo-boyfriend, who didn't like how sad I was all the time. He left me to, saying that he was sick of my moping. He left me for her. I didn't care. My mind and heart were trying to decode what I had done to get death threats from an ex-friend. I had entered hell.