I don't have a name, growing up I was always called "it" "that" or simply nothing at all. I call myself Oceana Rose Dayhope, but to others I don’t exist. Oceans are the only place I feel safe, they make me calm, forget about all my worries and all my troubles. I feel the beautiful hot sun beating down on me, the sand grains rushing through my fingers like they're in a hurry to be somewhere, I hear the calming waves gently rising up the beach then falling back down again. the crystal blue water occasionally touching the tip of my toes, the birds cheering happily having a singing competition bringing beautiful music to my ears but what I like most of all out here, at this ocean is the sunset. The sky it a mystical blue slowly fading into purple, yellow and pink, the sun looks a thousand times brighter, a thousand times bigger and a thousand times lovelier. A rose is the only physical object I have left from my granddad, he was the only person that cared but he passed away ten years ago, when I was four. Although the rose is very old now and it's crumpled up, the once ruby red petals are now shrivelled brown and crispy, the droopy dead flower remains alone, singled out on my windowsill. It's the only object that has remained in my room excluding me. Each day I live simply by hope, I have nothing else left to live for in my life.
I'm not the kind of girl you would expect me to be, although I spend most my life at the beach my skin still remains as pale as a sheep. My hair is dead straight and jet black, my fringe covers my mystical deep sea blue eyes reflecting back on my past and my life in general, hidden.
YOU ARE READING
This is the story of my life. I'm 14 years old. I am alone. No-one hears my cries at night. No-one hears the screams. No-one see's that im dying inside all because, i'm hidden.