This is what I wrote for one of my Year 9 assessments and I got a B. Give it a read?
I wish I could help him, this boy so full of sorrow. Sometimes he writes in a book, self-hating words, like he does not want to see tomorrow, yet tomorrow always comes.He's getting thinner, every day, more cuts and bruises as his heart, soul and will to live is torn away. Who would cause such torment? As he stares into me I notice his emerald eyes have no sparkle left at all. This boy is not alive any more, someone killed him, now he's merely an empty shell, breathing air, going through the motions of life but surely dead inside.
He jolts a little, as another male around his age, sixteen maybe, slides in beside him. The lips I know so well, split and bleeding come into contact with me once more, draining the innards this small teen seems to survive on. This boy, my boy, sniffles and tries to stop his tears, clutching me tighter to his chest, hiding behind his curtain of raven dishevelled hair.
So many questions, I am unable to ask, I have no lips, no tongue. Why does he cry so hard? Why is he getting so dangerously thin? Where did all these nasty purple bruises come from? Why does he no longer bother to cover the vast amount of gashes that litter the pale skin on his wrists?
I hear the flame haired boy ask him, ask him why, maybe the boy can find out for me. Maybe, just maybe he can save my boy. They talk for the longest time, but my boy's still crying, a waterfall of salty emotions still splashing from his doe eyes, still spilling and splashing to the inside of me.
Who would do that? His own father, beating him and bruising him, scarring him just for being who he is. I like him for who he is! I look forward to when he comes round, every day, three thirty on the dot. The boys and girls at school, they're just as bad as his 'Father', battering him and calling him a freak just because he's different, he's pale, his black hair is long and he listens to different music than them. What makes me sick though, sick to my very core, is that the main reason for all his torment is because he's gay. Just because he'd rather hold hands with a boy than with a girl his own father broke his fingers!
The boy with the hair red as flame makes an offer, one that is truly irresistible. Yet my boy still hesitates, biting his fingernails that are already down to the quick. The red head begins to beg, telling him he's had the same problems, that he knows what it's like. He explains to my boy that people just don't understand, they're stupid and ignorant and scared of all that's different to them. This young man could help my boy, if only my boy would let him. He could get away from every homophobic bully, and his awful father that calls him names so horrid they would sting my tongue to even repeat. My boy nods, and they both smile, my boy's beautiful smile shining through the ocean of tears. They both stand, my boy still clutching me tightly.
The tight grasp on me releases, and I feel myself dropping. The last thing I see is a warm embrace between two boys, the last thing I see is two lost souls finding a home in one another, the last thing I hear is two hearts beating in time, the last thing I know, is that my boy, has found his candle in the dark night, he's found his only hope. The last thing I sense, as my china body shatters on the ground and my cold coffee insides splash the boys boots, the last thing I sense, is love.
Hey guys! I'm back in buisness so I thought I'd post a quick one shot for you all! Please rate and review it would make my day! And do you want me to continue my old stories? Or just start afresh? My life is back on track now so I'm ready to do some damn writing!!!! Please please R&R!!