The Illusion of Happiness Through the Virtue of the Unknowing by Wyatt Warren

Chapter I: Julian’s PerspectiveThe neighborhood was poor, the grass was brown, dead, and had completely held no water. The trees’ roots could not

fit in the little squares of dried up dirt. The concrete had been broken around the tree. There was no grass in the little squares deprived of water, and the trees had no leaves. Just naked branches that were a light brown color. All the dried up leaves had fallen to the floor around the trees with nobody who cared enough to clean it up. The road was cracked all through out the block and was a light gray for no workers had laid down cement for as long as I can remember. The houses on the street were small, they all had black dirt scattered all over the sides. All of the one story houses were an ugly tan color that had lost it’s vibrant feel since the last painting. The roofs were dark brown and rough like sandpaper. The windows on the houses had so much dirt and dust on them that you could barely see through or out of them. Suddenly a car had speeded past the block, it had a huge cloud of dark gray exhaust that went into the air. The car was dark red with rust that covered around the doors and windows. The rust looked dark green and the hubcaps were covered with rust as well. I went up to my house, the smallest on the block, it had a clear light gray walkway that led up to my house. The front door was dark brown that was almost completely flat. There was almost no moldings on it except a square design that stuck out. There was also a bigger square molding that also stuck out. There was no small window on the door, just hard wood and the dull, tiresome door design. I walked up to the house as my old shoes were being worn down by the second. The shoes were torn apart and there was a hole in the shoe so that anybody could see my torn sock. I walked closer to the door as the sky looked as if a dark painting on a canvas was covering the town. The door had no doorknob, I assume it just fell off and nobody cared enough to fix it. I pushed the cold door open and saw my mom lay on the ugly, torn up couch. She was sleeping like a baby, she seemed to usually do that when I came home, showing no interest whatsoever in my life. She never seemed to do it until a few years ago. I guess she just feels a little bereaved.

My mom had a dark red sweater on that was much too big for her and that hung off the couch. It was a cheap sweater that could be torn by somebody just trying very little to tear it. A blanket covered her bottom half, the blanket had holes scattered all around it and was a grotesque shade of brown. Her face was dark and she had a very defining mole on her left cheek. Her eyebrows were uneven and long. She had big light brown lips and her hair was long. She had not cut it in as long as I can remember and was very uneven. The hair was also brown and tangled with strands sticking out of it. The house was only two small rooms, the room that I was in had a light shade of green paint on the walls. An extreme amount of dirt were on the walls and the paint was peeling off. There was a black chair in the corner of the room, the black paint did not cover all of the chair so I could see the light brown wood under. There is a wooden table in the middle of the room, a corner of the table is not attached, it has been on the floor for a while now. There is food on the table, cereal is scattered all over it with bugs crawling around. The food has been there for days now. The floor is all torn up and bugs crawled all throughout the open, brown floorboards.

Then she suddenly opened her mouth and said,” Are you here Justin?” “Yeah,” I said then had a long drawn out sigh that was so big that it filled the room with sound.“What about your brother?”“No, he ain’t here.”“Well then go pick up your little brother!” she said, furiously,”He’s probably sitting at the door complaining because

you are not over there!”“I thought you would do it today. You never seem to do it, maybe out of a lack of caring.” I said calmly back in a

refusing tone of voice.“What did you say to me?” she said in a firm voice.“I said you don’t care about you son, you don’t care about me either! You never have, you never will! The only thing

you're concerned about is if you don’t have to do anything all day and if you can just send me out to do anything you are unwilling to do out of laziness!” I said,”You don’t even raise money for the family…”

Before I could finish my bitter rant, my mother stood tall, walked over to me and said with all her might at the top of her lungs,”Did you mean that?” I just looked at her with a furious face. Then she raised her hand and slightly bent her elbow… she swung at my face with all her might. I fell down to the floor as my head hit against a hard, black wooden chair. My whole body laid on the floor and my forehead started to bleed where it hit the chair. She then said all the fury she possibly could “Did you mean that?”

“No,” I said in pain.“Go get your brother,” she said firmly saying it to end the conversation.I got up very slowly as hard as I could, then looked at my mother who was standing tall with a enraged face on. I fully

stood up with a scared face. I went into my small room with a matress for me lying on the floor, I sat on it and laid down on my scratchy blanket and just looked at the walls with dirty white paint peeled off. There was no windows in the room, just blank walls.

“I’m sure your brother is waiting for you.” she said with a discourteous tone of voice.Chapter II: Edgar’s Perspective

I sat on the cold stairs of my school that were gray and had litter all over it. Cups and candy wraps cover it with no janitor to care enough to pick it up. No kid that care enough either. The front door of the school was large, about seven feet high and five feet across. It had the words spread across it in all capital letters, “ELEMENTARY K- 5TH GRADE.” The door made the school seem better then it is, it made the school seem quite glorious, covering up what the school actually was, a poor, depressing, school where nobody learns because nobody wants to teach. I’m currently in third grade, we’re learning about multiplication now in math, but it’s almost the end of the year. This school is behind the average level in education for public

schools all around the country. The teachers are only concerned about if we know how to figure a problem out in math, not why this happens. I guess the teachers just want to get the test score average for the school up. Now, over 75% of students get under a passing grade on the tests. The kids don’t care about their education, and as each year goes by each student care less about education, I think the teachers have learned to not care either. The school building is small. It is made of bricks with windows where so much dirt and dust has accumulated on them that there is no purpose for them. The school doesn’t have shades, year after year the teachers say, “We are going to get shades this year.” They say that every year sounding so confident in themselves, but they know that that is not going to happen despite what they say. Almost as if they are hiding the reality from themselves.

After hours had passed, I saw my brother, Julian, walking down the block with his down as if he was hiding something or ashamed in some way. His shoe laces were dragging down on the dirty cement and his jacket torn. Julian had short hair, every month or so he shaved his head, he had a thick jacket on that was dark green and was a rough texture. His eyes were brown, like mine and he had a sort of pug nose. One that hardly stuck out and he had big nostrils. He had jeans on, they were a light blue and ripped, you could see the thin white strings below. His jeans were dragging on the floor picking up all the black dirt on the floor. He had a defining mole on his face that everybody, including me, teased. He has darker skin than me, not as dark as my mom. He stopped walking until he was towering high above and next to me, blocking the small light of the sun that barely shined through the clouds.

“Bright time for you to come by,” I said sarcastically in fairly upset tone of voice. “I only had to wait a few hours.” My eyes were wide open and I had a slight smile that quickly ran across my face.

Then he leaned over and yelled, “Oh, you have something to do apparently! You would barely be standing after the emotional trauma I just went through, you don’t have any responsibilities, you just get in the way!” My brother said with all his might and anger.

This is the maddest I had ever seen my brother. We had always gotten along fairly well. I wonder with all my curiosity what was going on at that moment, what was different about today than any other? I did not try to be rude just… I don’t know.

We walked across the block where there were different colored cement blocks. That street was next to a park. It was not really a park, it was so filled with people’s garbage that there was more plastic than grass. The grass that was there was dead and brown. There was a fence surrounding the park,the fence was covered in rust and was jagged. I remember the time I was running in that very same park on my birthday. It was still polluted with everyone’s trash, but I just thought that was how all parks were, dirty. I was running, it was possibly the best time in my life, I was playing tag with my friends and my brother. Me and my brother were running as fast as we could, I was trying as hard as I could not to get caught. My brother was only a few feet behind me, I was just out of reach. I was running towards a fence, when I got too close to the fence my plan was to turn quickly to the right, but just before I could do that, my brother had tripped. He hit me when he had tripped, because of that, I had also fell, I fell right into the fence. There was short little parts of the fence that stuck out on the edges, my face rubbed against the fence. As I went down my face was scratching against the jagged fence. My whole body was on the floor and my head hit down hard on the dead grass. My face was bleeding from it scratching against the unsafe fence, bleeding onto the brown grass. There was a huge scratch on my cheek, it dug in deep, about half an inch, my cheek was covered in blood. The was also a scratch that went across my eye, my eye lid was almost split in half. I had looked up, my brother was looking at me, he touched his cheek softly. I did the same, I felt a moist sensation, then I looked at my hand, and I saw the red blood. I looked horrified, I started to scream, “Ah, no, no, no!”

My brother ran over to me as I was walking around the park and was screaming, “Mom!” He was screaming as loud as he could as a tear started to drip from his eye. He had his soft hand on my shoulder as I was crying out loud with my eyes closed and my mouth wide open. My face was turning red as every one of my friends ran over to me yelling my mom’s name, “Anya, Anya, Anya.” For minutes they just were yelling that, as my brother was yelling, “Mom!”, as I was crying with all my suffering and pain. But my mom was nowhere to be seen. She had just left, not caring about us, she had just left, leaving nine kids by themselves to just play their hearts out. So we just went home to see my mom waiting there, as she gave us a look of confusion and my brother gave her a look of disappointment.

After that day, my brother had never physically harmed me again, on purpose or accident. He tried as hard as he could not to do it, and he did not, no matter how much he wanted to. Little did I know, how much this would drastically change in my near future.

Chapter III: Julian’s Perspective I don’t know why I had yelled at him then, I had never in my life screamed at my brother like that. He seemed embarrassed after, I did not mean to do anything that caused Edgar harm that made him that upset since… I guess the park accident. The sky is turning darker as every second ran on by, it was 5:09. Usually we had to get home by 5:00 sharp, if we did not do that she’d take out the belt. Right now I did not care about that much, I did not have to care and abide her idiotic rules if she did not care one once about my well being. She never has cared about our well being ever since dad left. He always cared greatly about me and my brother, always played with us, she did not do anything with us. I guess she never cared enough about then, and she doesn’t know either, so I think it was like that and it always will be.

Me and my brother walking a sizable distance away from each other. He wanted no part of me. I just made one mistake with him in years and now I pay the price of him wanting to slit my neck. A mix with that and embarrassment I think, but I don’t really know. My mom would not mind hurting me either, after all she never really does. The two biggest people in my life hate me. Its like everybody has there mad face on and looking at me. I can’t get away from them or fight against them, I just have to live in my deep realm of anger that’s just boiling in a pot in my head.

My brother then mumbled to me, “We should get home, mom’s going to get real mad.”

“I don’t care much about what she’s going to get, she obviously doesn’t do it to us, after all, you get what you pay for.” I said, I did not really want to talk to him, I feel like either one of us would get hostile quickly. Like most of my conversations today. I don’t want to go home, ever since it was mom on her own she cared about us even less. I honestly have no idea how this happened, but it did happen, and now I suffer for it.

2Chapter I: Teacher’s Perspective

The school is horrible. The throw away school where all the poor people and the kids who are too dumb to go to average schools. Where all the throw away teachers go to earn a low salary so they can eat the worst food in the city and not starve. Nobody here wants to make a difference, they just want something to do. Nobody takes authority for their own actions, for the teachers’ wrong doings, they can simply blame it on the unintelligent, ludicrous, highly naive children who care nothing about their education and well being. My classroom is small for the 36 students that are my duty to teach but are just much too stubborn and unwilling to learn. I thought this was going to be the greatest achievement of my life when I got the job to teach at “MICHAEL BROWN ELEMENTARY K- 5TH GRADE,” it turned out to be the bane of my existence. I don’t know why I even wasted a couple years of my sad life getting a teachers’ certificate, only to make my life sadder. I think I’ve lost faith in these dull children who probably won’t go to college and even drop out high school. These children won’t make it in life, they can’t. They simply can’t. I feel bad for these children, they have given up their education, they were born in families that are cheap as dirt, and now half their teachers have already given up on them, but I’m nobody to judge the teachers who just can’t take it anymore, I myself am close that as well. I’ve only taught here for two years and I’m close to giving up, it only takes so much stretching before a rubber band breaks. I’m close to breaking in two with nobody who can repair me.

Inside the classroom, it is a place where most people are the same. Nobody is idiosyncratic in any way, everybody is iconoclast, looking to be different when if everybody does the same thing it starts to become trite. Everybody lives in indigence, forced into that lifestyle by their parents, and the generations that came before. These kids have potential to be bright, but they have this evasiveness towards school that makes them incapable of having a better future than their ancestors. I have no idea what I can do to these kids that will help their futures, but every year it seems like these kids care less and less. I want to help these kids, I want them to go off into a different place where everybody is not in poverty. At first, I thought I could make these kids great, I guess I thought I was some sort of paradon example of a teacher who can prepare the students, that thought has completely faded.

The classroom has posters all over it, they say, “READING IS THE BEST MEDICINE,” or, “LOVE TO READ.” At first I believed that would encourage students, along with my other thoughts, it has faded away. There are windows that are cracked in the room, dirt covers all over them and I try as hard as I can to get some shades. But just simple shades would take greatly out of the schools pocket, I could say the same with myself as well, so I am nobody to judge. There are dark blue cabinets with scratches on them. The scratches are brown, maybe it is the color under the blue paint. The scratches are from students that are inept or not caring. There are papers on the top of the cabinets, they are meant to be for kids to take for homework and classwork, but it has turned into just a pile of papers that nobody takes. They are ripped and torn, some are on the floor, most are just laying around the classroom. There is one trash can, ninety percent of the time it is knocked over by students who just don’t care. The trash can is dark green with silver scratches. The trash can has a black plastic bag inside that is ripped and torn in which trash usually falls out. Each of the desks has light tan wood tops and have dark brown on the sides of the desks and the top of the desks there is part of the light wood ripped apart so you can see the dark brown wood under it. There is dried up bubblegum under the desks, I tried to clean it off back when I had faith in the school, then when I learned that they are just going to stick more gum on under the desks as fast I cleaned the gum off. My personal desk is filled with unorganized papers and students’ work that they put no effort in to. It has a black cabinet on it that holds homework I need to hand out. I have a chalkboard with useless notes written on it for the students to follow, but day after day, I write more on that chalkboard but nobody seems to care about the effort I put into it. I have it very neatly organized with on column for homework for each of my four different classes. I also have a column for the focus of the day, which is often just to review things I’ve taught them but nobody seems to care enough to fully embrace the content. There is a column for an opening question for the class, often reviewing what I taught them from the day before, they often do not do it, so I’ve given up writing it on a lot of days. Then there is a little chart, it shows the three columns of red, yellow, and green. Green means you are doing good in class, respecting others, doing work, yellow means you are doing okay, you are doing some work, and respecting others fairly well. Red means you are not doing any work, disrespecting others, and you have detention for an hour after school. There were two of my thirty six students are in green, seven of my students are in yellow, and eleven are in red. Then there are six teen students who don’t go to school regularly enough to even be classified as a student. This little chart was supposed to encourage kids to get into the green area. One reason was for self satisfaction, and also I would give them a prize. This special prize was a pencil, a plain old pencil, all you could do with it is write, obviously. This “special” prize was all I could really take out of my pocket without spending too much money. When the students found out that the prize was a pencil, I guess kids found no need to be in the green area. This did not encourage kids at all to do work, so they just did what they wanted to do I suppose. The wall around the room is white, The walls have huge cracks and holes in them that have ants and beetles in them. For years there has been a major ant infestation, it is known city wide, but the school has done nothing. They barely can keep the building standing with the limited money they earn. But despite that, every year the principle that it is going to get fixed, but then every year it does not get fixed. When first came, I believed that they would actually fix the major infestation, but now, I’ve become quite dubious of whether this will happen. The walls are dirty, there is black dirt scattered all over the four walls. The ceiling is cracked, it looks as if plaster will fall down at any second in the day. The ceilings are only raised about seven feet up, making the room seem quite cramped and limited of space.

Chapter II: Principal's Perspective

I’m trying to make it through in the day, I just to make enough money for me and my husband. He’s not doing so well, he’s very sick, I just want to give him enough hope before he passes. Give him something to do, a big dream of his that he never got around to, like write a book for example. But I guess now he can’t because of his disease. He was an english professor, but then he got his sickness, alzheimer’s. I guess he worked too hard, after all the disease is caused by stress. As the disease advances, symptoms can include confusion, irritability, aggression, mood swings, trouble with language, and long-term memory loss. I come home from work only to see my small house and he looks at me with a confused, deranged face, like he’s asking me, “Who are you?” it takes a while for him to actually recognize me, about, well… I guess it depends on the day. It is the saddest thing, I don’t know how well it is going to play out, but for some strange reason, I don’t think it’s going to play out well. This reminds me of a story. One day, we were both in the store and he had to go to the restroom. The store was all white. The walls were clean and looked like people had painted the walls every day. The floors were slippery and felt glossy. The floor was white but had black specs in it, it was some sort of marble. The ceilings were raised up about 20 feet high. He stopped suddenly at the end of the aisle, he just stopped. He started to breath heavily, I assumed he just completely forgot where we were. He just stood there looking like a child lost in New York. Staring up, down and all round him, I came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. I looked at him with a face like I was on the verge of tears. He did not remember me. He looked at me with the most confused face like after the 45 years we had known each other had just meant nothing. It was the most painful thing I had faced in a long time. He was the apple of my eye and he is limited from his disease so that he can not remember me.

Then he suddenly let out a scream of anger, “Argh!” It was loud, it echoed through the big open space so everybody could hear the intense, painful scream. Then he just sped walked away into another aisle. He went all the way across the store before turning into an aisle.

I looked all around the aisles for the him. Then I suddenly saw him, he had a package of cookies in his hand, he had a huge hand full of them and shoved them in his mouth. I looked at him from the other end of the aisle and he looked back straight at me. He had a twinkle in his eye and an ashamed face. He got up slowly and carefully to walk towards me. He had a relieved face as he noticed it was me. He had finally recognized me. That was a big point in my life where I knew that his disease was getting more and more severe as each month passes.

At the school I think people know about my husband’s illness. But it seems like the children put it aside in their heads and they just talk about as informally as they would to fellow students. It is a madhouse at the school, and I do not think it’s any reason about the lack of discipline. I think it is too much discipline. If the child gets a bad grade, the mother or father takes out the belt, if the child does something bad in school, the mother or father takes out the belt. I think that this wanting the child to be and do everything in a perfect manner or they get beaten is a poor way to handle situations like that. So they lash out in a way at school, they take chairs with wheels and just go through the halls spinning down. They have fights in there, like the day about three years ago when two young men with a great deal of aggression had a huge fight. I don’t really know how they started at all. It was in the halls with students’ dirty foot prints all over the hall. One of the students took the other students head and bashed it against his locker. So many times this poor student’s head was being bashed against the metal locker. Blood was gushing out of his nose intensely. The blood was dripping on the floor, plop, plop, plop, for a minute this boy’s head was being bashed against the locker. Then the boy whose head was being bashed, took out a razor and slashed the other in face. Blood was pouring from his cheek , he tried to hold it in with his hand and all over his shirt. They both had blood all over their faces with tears pouring out. The person who had his face severely cut, fell to the floor as blood was pouring out all over the floor. All through this, other students were in a circle egging the students on, yelling, “Go, go, go, go!.” When the person had fallen, they had carried the other out, cheering on his violent behavior. I think that violent behavior is put on by there parents who do acts of violence if they do something faulty. Then afterwards I think that these faulty ways of handling tough situations is passed down to the next generation, and then the generation after that, and so on. I think there are several different approaches to it, especially that don’t involve taking a belt on and probably shaming your child. But what do I know? Despite my wanting to, I have not had children, and god knows I never will.

Chapter 3: Teacher’s PerspectiveI come home to my house only to look at my two room house that has only one couch, a small kitchen, and my room

with my horrible, uncomfortable bed. When you walk into my house you would immediately see the light gray walls with one huge defining crack that runs all through the wall. My couch is red, it goes terribly with the other colors in the room, but it was the cheapest one I could find, so I can’t complain. The ceiling is only about eight feet tall, it has a light on it, some people refer to it as a mushroom light, it is rounded, short, and is a terrible light source for a room. There is a six feet tall bookshelf in the room, there is only about 50 books on it, but some of my personal favorites. Like Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Proust, George Eliot, and many individual books as well. The book shelves themselves are white, each shelf is one and one half feet tall and three feet long. There was also a dark purple that was tall, it was about five feet tall. The flooring is a carpet that is dark blue, over the years the carpet has seemed to get really gross. The door that leads to my bedroom is white and has an intricate design, it has two long rectangles that carve into the door, then there is another rectangle that goes out of the door. Inside of the smaller rectangle there are four lines on either side. Below that is a less long, flipped to the side version of the molding up to. My room has a bed that has a queen sized mattress, with dimensions of 60 inches wide by approximately 80 inches long. The bed frame is black and wooden. The backboard has black cushions with black wood surrounding it as well. My bed has white pillows, a white mattress, and a light blue blanket that feels like a rain coat from the outside. My room has a plant, it is very healthy with flowers blooming out of it. The leaves are dark green and go high in the air. I wish I could make more money to buy a better little apartment. I just want more space than just two rooms. I don’t eat the best foods, probably not even considered that good food, but when I think of my students, half of them live in extreme poverty with parents who can barely put food on the table. This does not make me feel

happy that I have enough money to eat but some do not, it makes me feel worse. I feel like maybe I can’t make the kids succeed in life, but I can make their middle school experience something better than it is.

3Chapter 1: Mother’s Perspective

I need to to do something to that boy of mine, Julian. He’s a troublemaker, I want to make him a better person so he can fit into the harsh realities of the country, especially in Washington DC. It is truth universally acknowledged that Washington DC is one of the worst drug infested towns in the country. It is an ugly place out here, and if that boy does not shape up, I don’t know what I’m going to do with him. I want him to have a job, make some money for his family, just do something. I can’t get a job, that would not teach the boy anything. He has to do better in his school too. His grades last year were, two Ds, two Fs, and three C-s. Get a job like his father. All day just working on the streets then bringing home enough money to support my family. He put food on the table, he made changes in our life. Now he’s gone and my son has to step up for him, it’s the only way for this in need family to thrive. It still haunts me how he’s gone, I still needed him, now he is gone, but maybe if we were meant to be together, we would meet again.

I wonder where my children are, I have a specific rule about being here at five o'clock. I guess it is just a way to rebel against my authority, I think now he is going to rebel more due to my trying to discipline him. I am not the best parent out there, I am well aware of that. But sometimes I’m just a sad mom who’s trying to get through the day, I know that hitting my child isn’t the best response, far from it. My husband would handle it well. He knew how to handle children, he had a special touch for some reason. I don’t know how he got it or why. Well, he wasn’t born in Washington DC, so maybe his experience as a black child in a really rich city with a rich family was different. Maybe not having to be disciplined by a belt, but the more proper way, with experiences. I would do it like that, but it is too late, and I’m not good at talking to them. My oldest would not listen either, I’ve ruined my chance to make a good relationship with him, as his father had.

I remember the time when my husband and my two children went to the park together, I stayed at home, after all they were not so fond of me quite that much. They went to the park and then came back in a few hours, the children had the happiest faces on. Their mouths were wide open and there eyes closed. They were laughing their head off with their father’s hands around their shoulders. My husband had a smile that would light up the world as well.

Then he came over to me and told me, “We had the best time, the park was nice, and the grass was vibrantly green. We just played catch and threw the football around. I swear, the kids are getting much stronger, they are throwing the football so hard I barely could catch it! Man, the times are changing so fast, they are getting taller!”

I just listened to him going on and on about the great time they had. I started really intrigued about the story, but then it seemed like.. I don’t really know the feeling. It was like... well he had an amazing time at this two hour trip, but all the times that I’ve spent time with the kids, there seems to be this tendency for a belt to come out of my room. Imagine how it feels for them to now be living with me. Imagine for me, their father taking them out, them coming back and having a great time this day. Then their father taking them out, them coming back aeng a great time, that day. Just this great world with their father, and then a hellish world for them when they are with me. It demoralizes me, it practically rips me apart. Not that I want to beat him in a “parenting contest.”

I love my children, don’t get me wrong. Or I at least try to. But after all, good intentions are not enough. My husband used to say that. i guess it means that the good intentions don’t matter unless you act on them, if you don’t it is just bottled up inside, what is the point of that? After all, you don’t get an award for good intentions. I would act on my liking for my children, if I could that is. I just never learned I guess. My husband could have taught me. He was the best parent I knew. He would have known. I guess I did not ask then because the kids had somebody that they liked. Now it’s just me and they hate me. They think I’m a terrible parent, a terrible person, and an unloving mother. I don’t know how they stand me, I don’t like to sometimes live with myself honestly. Living with the fact that my children hate me and I have no friends either. After all, how could I?

My children should follow their own path. They should not be an unlikeable person who does not show her caring for their most loved in the whole world. It does not seem like it, but I would not lose my children if it meant the world. That is selfish I guess, they would never be with me if they had a choice. I can’t hold them both close to me, hold them so dearly, but still not treat them with the respect they deserve. I don’t know why I’m like that. Maybe my parents gave me this notion of taking out the belt is the only way to discipline a child. But now I’m highly doubting the tactic. But I still do it because… well, I don’t know another way. So I really don’t want my children to be like me. Thier father seems like a really nice, easy going, person who had a great job and could support the family very well. But their father had problems too. Possibly worse, maybe better than my problems. He… was the most loveable person outside of his job. At work, he did what he had to do to support our slowly dieing family.

I wish my oldest would pay more attention to school. He will value from it greatly when he grows up. He does not know it yet, but he will, he will, greatly. Or else he will become something like me. That is one of the biggest regrets for me. Part of the terrible person that I am today is that I did not pay enough attention in school. That was my falling point. I remember, days and days of me rebeling at my teacher. I was in my classroom, there were posters that said, “LET ADVENTURES TAKE YOU AROUND THE WORLD.” The walls were nice, I went to a good public school. My parents had a fair amount of money, actually, they had more than average. I guess that’s a reason to take out the belt every time I did something faulty. They wanted

me to live up to a static level that they had. Anyway, the room was nice. The walls clean, the teachers were good, they taught very good material. But though I was gifted to go to a good public school, I guess I did not use the opportunity wisely. I did not care for the material, I did not put any of it to use. I just wasted a good opportunity. I now know nothing about what I learned in any of my classes. I was gifted with an opportunity of a lifetime to have a good, if not great education. But because of laziness and unwillingness to do anything or learn anything, I’m stuck with the stupid person I am today. Now my child does not go to a great school, it is a cheap one with ant infestations. But I’m sure he can make a great experience there. Get good good grades, learn a thing or two. Make something out of it. Do something there, learn a skill. Let it prepare you for high school and ultimately for life. Let it make you mature and let it make you less of a boy. Learn social skills, do all the things I was too dumb to do at the time. I’m sure he’d have a much better one than I had. A much better one, maybe then you won’t end up like a dumb, unlikeable person, or his mother. I wonder what my life would have been like if I had paid some respect or attention to my studies. I maybe wouldn’t still live in Washington DC, I would have gone somewhere, gotten a reputable job. I could have been smart, I could have done something valuable with my life. Done something good for the greater good. Help people, actually support my family financially in times where we had no hope or money. But I maybe would not have a family. Two amazing children, they mean everything to me. The only thing I have that will keep me going in life, the only thing. I would give up my arm or a piece of my soul if it meant giving up them. Only if they believed that as well.

There father always used to sing a song for them in times of trouble for them, he used to sing “Let it Be.” They always enjoyed it. He had a great voice for some reason. He sang exactly like The Beatles would. He knew all the lyrics, it was calming for them. I would sing it to Julian right now, but, he wouldn’t listen. I don’t know why but I started to sing, as if he was there.When I find myself in times of troubleMother Mary comes to meSpeaking words of wisdom, let it beAnd in my hour of darknessShe is standing right in front of meSpeaking words of wisdom, let it beLet it be, let it beLet it be, let it beWhisper words of wisdom, let it beAnd when the broken hearted peopleLiving in the world agreeThere will be an answer, let it beFor though they may be partedThere is still a chance that they will seeThere will be an answer, let it beLet it be, let it beLet it be, let it beYeah there will be an answer, let it beLet it be, let it beLet it be, let it beWhisper words of wisdom, let it beLet it be, let it beAh let it be, yeah let it beWhisper words of wisdom, let it beAnd when the night is cloudyThere is still a light that shines on meShine on until tomorrow, let it beI wake up to the sound of music,Mother Mary comes to meSpeaking words of wisdom, let it beYeah let it be, let it beLet it be, yeah let it beOh there will be an answer, let it beLet it be, let it beLet it be, yeah let it beOh there will be an answer, let it beLet it be, let it beAh let it be, yeah let it beWhisper words of wisdom, let it be.

I have no idea how, but ,this calmed me somehow. It made me feel like the mother I strive to be, a good one, like how they thought their father was.

Chapter II: Julian’s PerspectiveI know people don’t particularly like me. I know I’m dumb as a rock and that I have no talent. I guess my family’s

limited amount of money prevents me. But that is just a dumb excuse for me not being smart. My brother is smart. He has talents.

He gets As with only occasionally a B, which would be for me like somebody would give me the most special prize in the world. He can draw very well, also. He can do so many talents, he is blessed with them. I am living in his shadow, I am supposed to smarter, I am older. I am supposed to do things beyond his talents. But no, not even close, I do not, I’m the stupid one with no talents who can do diddly squat compared to my far superior younger brother. Everybody thinks so, my mother, my father thought that. People most dear to me, they make me feel like nothing when they compare me to my brother. My friends even think so. Of the little friends I have. I’m dumb and unlikable, after all, I’m my mother’s son. My brother is smart and likeable, he has many friends, what can I say he is charismatic, he’s a truly his father’s son.

I don’t think that the grades are not a particularly good way of.. well doing stuff I guess. Because the dumb students like me get Fs, and then they get beat by their mothers. The mothers then punish the kid even further by possibly isolating them from their friends. Their friends then ask, something like, why are you being punished? Then this bad student is forced to say well, I got an F. Then these friends laugh at the him. Ha, ha, he has an F. Then the student gets mad, this rumor spreads that this student has an F. The grade makes him really laughable, people start to call him stupid. They make fun of him, they think he’s just some really dumb clod with no feelings. So relentlessly the people make fun of him. Then some students that get made fun of start to get violent. This violence leads them to punch and hurt some of the smarter people who constantly make fun of the kid with the F. Then the parents and teachers decide that he needs to focus his aggression on something. So he starts to do boxing or football, so now he can focus his aggression on something, and now it is organized violence. Then by playing these violent sports, this person gets hurt. I think just this organizing people by what grade they get is awful. It just sets the smart kids from the dumb I guess, when the right thing to do is just to each the student some things about the subject that the student is failing in. This sort of behavior is just started from a meaningless letter that puts a great amount of pressure on this student. I don’t think it is right what so ever. At least this is what I have seen with the other kids at the school.

I never really got into any sports. I think I did not do the sports because, I guess I’m not violent. I think sometimes I just don’t care about my grades. Maybe I actually think I am smart deep down inside somewhere. I mean do you think somebody that constantly notes that he is dumb. I don’t know though. I guess it is other people’s decisions to say if I am intelligent. Plus to a further extent, they can decide how intelligent or not intelligent a person is. Most people would say, “No, I’m not smart.” But that is okay. I have learned to except that and live in my brother’s shadow. Have a legacy of being a dumb 8th grader who’s third grade younger brother is increasingly smarter than me. It is now just nature for him to get great grades, but me, the one who gets the bad grades. That is just how it is now I guess, I have learned to cope with that. No matter how much it hurts to me, I just live with it.

My brother is amazing. He is so smart, he helps me with my homework. I’m too dumb for the simple homework at my school, but he can do it. He helps me, he is beyond his years by a lot. My father always used to say something to him, “Hi, Edgar, you are the boy that is 9, going on 54.” Smart as a 54 year old, yes he was, and he still is. He can draw quite well, he wants to go to New York, go to NYC. I don’t want to crush his aspirations, but, he can’t go. The family is too poor. No person in the family has been to college as long as anybody can remember. He is the best shot at going to college because he’s a genius. I can not go, I’m too dumb and not.. well, I do not know. I guess I am saying that he is a genius, he deserves a better family, his mom does not support him, I can not, he goes beyond my intelligence and his father left. He’s on his own, he deserves better, he really needs a better family, one that could send him to a private school and care for him with the care he deserves. But his family simply can’t do that for him. It would be how he would thrive, it is how he would be happiest. But mom never has and will make enough money. She also would not realize that it would be best for him, she would not give the support he would probably need. I can’t give him support either, after all he is already smarter than me. But dad, he is the worst. Mom is the worst parent I know, but at least she is still there. My father is gone, left, and we will never see him again. He was always there, I needed help, he was right behind, I wanted something, he would do to the best of his ability to get it. I was sad, he cheered me up. I needed encouragement, he gave me encouragement. He was there when my mom was not. Then my dad just left. Leaving, knowing that mom was an unfit parent. He did not care, he knew that mom could not make a penny for the family, despite this, he left.

Chapter III: Mother’s PerspectiveMy husband is what people call gifted. But I think most people get the definition of gifted incorrect. People mostly

think that it means that the person has a talent, but the way I look at it is that.. well, firstly, it has nothing to do about the person. I believe that it has to do with your circumstances. If you are gifted, it means that you are blessed with the condition of your circumstances. I mean, my husband was not beat, his family was nice, when he was young, well… he was a genius to a clod like me.

My husband lived in Houston. My husband had a good education. He went to a nice middle school. He told me that everybody was nice there. They were all smart and talented. They all had parents, nice parents, wealthy parents. No parent, or not many parents beat their child. The classrooms were designed to maximize their learning. The teachers tried to explain explicitly the topic. The curriculum was hard but they learned greatly from it. The curriculum was much more complicated than any curriculum now. They were learning lessons beyond their years, reading books no other middle schooler could read in an average schools. Even the really good public schools was no no match in his school’s education. The kids’ grades were all good, except a select few. All of the kids probably went on to be great people. he always got As. If he got a B on an assignment he would do anything to change it. He was greatly successful when he was in middle school. He had a job. He was a baby sitter, he made like a few dollars an hour. Which was a lot back in the day. He also painted as a young child. He painted these beautiful murals that he would sell for about 50$. They were intricate. I’ve seen some of them, they were beautiful. He had one that I loved the most. It was of San Francisco. He’s been there so he decided to paint a mural of it. It is a long landscape picture. It has the Golden Gate Bridge, it had nice detail and shadows on it. He had the water, all of the colors blended together nicely. It looked really pretty. It had a sky that looked like Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It had a full moon that was full and lit the picture up. It created a

focus point. It also had the downtown area. The windows stood out because they were white. There was the Transamerica Pyramid that was tall and towered over the other buildings. He also had these mountains that the Golden Gate Bridge led to. The mountains looked like how Georgia O'Keeffe would paint them. The painting was great. But I think it made me envious at him. I guess because he could make beautiful murals at age 13, while I can not even compete with a skill that developed even now. He had a great talent. He drew at least two hours each day, he loved to draw. He just adored it. His parents would buy him top quality supplies. They were the best anybody had, even in his school. They were like 20$ a brush. Just for one brush. It seemed absurd to me. I mean nobody had ever done something like that to me. Something that so kind. So nice. He got those supplies even if he did not ask. His family was truly blessed with money. He was apparently really popular as well. He had a number of friends. An unmatched number by anyone. I guess he was likeable then, and was until, it happened. His name, Gill, was the most said in the whole school.

Gill was also successful in high school. He went to a public high school as well. He told me it was ranked in the top 30 schools in the country. He went to a school in Houston called YES Prep North Central. It has a 96. 3 for college readiness. All the students in the school were tested, 95 percent of them passed. Gill carried on his love for art in the four years he was in high school. He really enjoyed high school he once said to me, he said that “If you're behind in the track, you have to catch, because they will just keep on going. There will be the ones in the front, leading the way, then there’s going to be the ones in the back. They are going to have to just try not to be the last one there.” I guess he thought it was more competitive, like running on a track. He was near the front, he was certainly one of the select few leading the way. I don’t know why he liked this competitive aspect, he just did. He was a competitive person growing up. Probably forced into that way by his surroundings. The place he lived in was rich, not particularly Houston, but the specific neighborhood. He said once, “Wealth can be a game about winning or losing trying to get the most, comparing it to others wealth, you can treat it like that. Or you can just think of of it as something that is a gift, a gift that is rare to have and to not take advantage of it.” He was wise. He said that his classrooms were good, about 15 student every one teacher. He said there was a teacher there that was a really great teacher. He kept everybody on task in the classroom and he did not really care of the lengths he had to do to keep them from going off task. He somehow kept everybody quiet, there was a rumor that for the kids who weren’t doing their work, he would take them outside the room and threatened them. One day some student came to the principle and this student said that the teacher was threatening us if we don’t do our work. So this teacher was obviously fired. For some reason that I don’t know for sure of is why Gill liked him. I guess he thought, he did not leave kids behind this made up track. Gill continued to have good grades. He continued to get all As. His classrooms were ideal as put it, he said that they dead silent, an awesome place to work. He started to run track in high school. He said that he did not do particularly well, he usually got like 4th or 5th place out of six total people. it apparently did not hurt his popularity though. If anything it made him more so. He always said, “I have no idea why or how that happened, but believe me, I was fine with it.” He was funny, as an adult and as a student as well. As an adult he was sarcastic, he made me and the kids happy with his jokes, made us laugh like nobody else could. He was funny outside of class, but as serious as a teacher inside of class. He was mature all through the years of middle school and high school. I assume his environment of wealthy people helped do that to him. As he often said, “You are more shaped by the environment and circumstances then the type of person that you are.” He had an interesting time transitioning from a private school to a public school. He used to say that smaller classes in the private schools. He also said that he had experience of much different people in the private middle school then the public high school. His art skills thrived in high school. He was allowed to sell his pictures to anybody, he made money off that. Everybody thought he was amazingly nice do these great pieces of art for them. They all encouraged him to draw and do art throughout those four years. Some of them put together money to buy him supplies. He was the focus of attention for the kids, he was likeable and charitable as well. Nobody could not like him. He continued to sell his murals, but at a slower rate than he usually would. This was because he also got a real job. He learned how to cook, he went to learn from somebody very good for many hours a day. He put in this effort to work in an upscale restaurant. He was not the leading cook, but he certainly put a lot of effort to eventually go up to that position. He was a very good cook, he got a lot of money at this big position. He spent this money on things like art supplies, cooking pans, any books he desired. The funny thing is, that, as he used it for things that he used this extreme wealth for things like hobbies, while I would simply use it for a semi quality meal and to pay off the year’s late rent.

Gill could have gone to college, I don’t know why he chose not to. I think he would have liked it a lot more than what his future turned into. He should have gone to college, gotten a great education at a great school. Like one of those expensive ivy league schools like Brown University, Columbia University, Cornell University, Dartmouth College, Harvard University, Princeton University, the University of Pennsylvania, or Yale University. He would have been a lot more successful, I feel bad that I pushed him out of that future. Int a future with me.

I looked at my watch I got from him, over the years it has been attempted to be stolen. But even to this day, it is still on my wrist. It’s a nice watch. Probably the nicest thing I have ever received. Nicest thing in the house. I got it from Gill, it was a birthday gift. It is a Rolex watch. It is gold watch, very shiny. In the middle glass circle it does not have numbers, just gold lines, 12 of them obviously. Then on the 12 tick, it had the rolex logo, which was a very intricate crown. Around the glass there is a ring with little lines cut into it. The band on it has little metal pieces that are connected together. The little pieces on the outside of the band are silver, but the much smaller little pieces in the middle of the band are gold. On the outside of the band, the little pieces are lined up on the long side of them. But in the middle there is a lot of small gold pieces that are running up the middle on the short side of the little pieces. Then running on the sides of the middle pieces are more segments running up the band but on the longer side of them. On the side of the glass there is a little nob with lines carved into it. It is beautiful. It means a lot to, it is about the only thing that I have that reminds me of my husband in a positive way. There is one more thing about one thing about the watch, it has a huge crack going down the middle of the glass. Just one crack that goes all the way through it. I remember clearly about when I got that crack. There was a man, he is known in our neighborhood. He is not well, he goes out and drinks all

night. After that he’d just go around the neighborhood angry. He had one pair of clothes. A pair that would never get washed, just day after day, he would wear the same clothes, nobody cared to ask if he wanted them washed. Nobody cared about him. People in this neighborhood have a rule, if they look suspicious, stay away. For a lot people they are probably right, half the people have probably have been to jail, it is a very shaky place. Any way, this man’s clothes were jeans. The jeans were light blue and torn all over. It had a huge rip along the side of it, you could see his whole knee. Though most would be a little creeped out by this, like when I heard or saw that, I would get sad. This man has been wearing this same outfit for a year, and nobody including me had helped him. He had a shopping cart filled with plastic bottles and bags. He then would give the bottles to the recycling center and get some money. With that money he would buy some new clothes, but some person would always just steal from him as he was trying to get a decent meal. Somebody would just steal his money, not caring about that he can’t afford even fast food. But one day about a month after I received my watch, I was out in the dark at about 11 o’clock. I was just taking a walk, I have no idea why I thought that it was even an okay idea to go out into a bad part in Washington DC in the middle of the night. The sky was like if somebody had laid down a black blanket and then had poked some holes in it where light could shine through. I was at a park, there was plastic bags and bottles all over the park. Every park is so polluted here There was trees, very few but still some. The trees’ leaves had all fallen off, all the leaves were at the base of the tree, nobody had even cleaned it. Nobody cared enough. Even at a park. The grass was dead, it was light brown and the whole field had barely any actual live grass. The park is small, it has a fence around the whole park. The fence is low and has this gross green rust on it caused by oxidation. The park also had a small playground with vibrant colors. At least the vibrant colors have gone away and the paint is peeling off. There is blue monkey bars which curved around in a semicircle that were blue. But you could see the rusting metal under the peeling blue paint. It curls over to a metal platform with holes in it. Then the metal stairs with a blue railing with bars leading down to the stairs. The stairs lead up to a slide that is plastic and red. the slide curls all the way around. To the left of the slide there is a structure that had rubber long pieces that connected. They intersected with the long rubber segments going up and down. Each of the rubber pieces was red. To the right of the slide is a ladder that had two long pieces of white rope that went down. The white ropes had light brown wooden pieces that were long and connected to the rope. The pieces of wood were all damaged in some way. A lot of them had little pieces of wood sticking out. They would often give kids major splinters in their hands when they climbed on it. There were also a few parts of the ladder that were completely broken in half. As I was walking in the night, I saw a man. He looked all black. I could not see the details of his face. He stumbled around in the park, I know it was the drunken, but then I had no clue. He had a bottle in his hand and shades of brown glass scattered around his shoes. He suddenly stumbled down to the floor. He had his hands on the floor with his knees there too. His head was hanging down, the top of it almost touching the ground.Then he lifted his head up and an enormous amount of puke came out. I could tell that the puke was the color green. It spilled all over his hands and on his torn up shirt. He then fell down into the dry dirt with dead grass soaked with his puke. He had just been to a bar probably, at the time I did not know he was poor, but now I know that at bars he would go to the outside seating. If he’d see any unfinished beer, he’d get amazingly drunk out of that. When he fell to the ground, I felt terrible. He did not have anybody to take him home or… if he even had a home. I felt bad for him, so I felt compelled to walk over to him. I walked slowly to him in my black sandals against the solid ground with the dead, brown grass tickling my feet. He looked almost dead as he laid down on the ground. As I was standing right over him, I felt like I could help him, and this would somehow… like purify me, somehow. I don’t believe in god, I never have, I probably never will, but still I thought it would do purify me. I just had this thought long enough to come close to him and have this feeling to help him out. I guess I don’t believe that there is a god because, if there is so much suffering, so much poverty in the world, especially in Washington DC. Is it because people like this drunk with no place to go where there is a roof, is it because he did not work hard enough, and the rich people did. I don’t really know. But any way, the man was on the floor, and then with a quick movement he lifted his arm at me. His hand was brown. His fingers were long and his fingernails were long but uneven. The palm of his hand had a huge purple scratch. The cut stuck out and was very noticeable even to the naked eye. he lifted up his head slightly up and looked sad. He looked at me as if he had thought that he had no purpose, no reason to still go on. Then he got up on his knees. He looked up at me and said with his deep, voice, “Why are you wasting your time with a no-one like me.”

I did not answer his question, I just looked down at him with plain eyes. He looked at my watch for a few seconds after he talked to me. He then quickly glanced back up at me. He lifted out his hand. He took my hand. His hand was warm, warm and dry. He had a lot of calis or dead skin on it I guess. He looked at my watch. I was very confused, confused and uncomfortable. So I quickly withdrew my hand from his grip and took a huge step back away from him. He got completely up on his feet, he was tall, about 6 feet, 4 inches. He walked towards me, looking like he wanted to harm me. I guess he does not make the best choices when he is drunk. he sped up his walking pace. I then fell down as I was walking backwards trying to get out of harm’s way. He bent down at me as he looked into my eyes. His eyes were a dark brown. The whites of his eyes were had a little red vein that went through it. He again grabbed my hand again and he tried to remove the cold watch from my wrist. Before he completely took it off I slapped him in the face. I did it with all the power and my belief that I needed the watch. I looked at him furiously and bravely as if I was not scared of him. But this facial expression was just concealing my true emotion of me being frightened. He looked at me with his back hunched over, with the scariest face I had ever seen, then he had clenched his fist tightly… then, he swung it at my face with all his might. I hit the floor. My head felt like it was not attached to my body. I felt dizzy, I was blinking rapidly and breathing heavily. A little stream of blood dripped down my face and onto the dry dirt. I had my head on its side as my fists were clenched. I had my fists clenched because I was scared, it was the scariest thing in my life. then I noticed that about at 10 yards to the right of me, was my watch. It had a huge crack going down the middle of the glass. Just one crack that goes all the way through it. As I laid there in fear, I wondered if my husband would mind about that. He spent a lot of money into that watch, but now it is broken because I stupidly walked into the middle of the night. But then I saw the drunken walking away slowly. He stumbled away, and I just watched him go until he was completely out of sight. After I no longer could see him,

I got up slowly with my muscles cracking, and walked to my watch. I simply picked it up and looked into the crack. I looked into it so intently that it was like an intricate design. I picked up the watch, put it on my skinny wrist as I looked at it in relief. I felt the icy coldness of the watch as I put it on, I looked at it and thought to myself that, it is sad how most of my objects carry on of the worst memories that I have experienced.

I now find myself looking into the watch. Just following the little second hand tick around in a perfect circle. I saw the the solid black, narrow minute hand was precisely on the 5, while the thicker black hour hand was between 7 and 8. The time was 7:25 right on the dot. It was past my rule of the kids being home at 6 o’clock. So I gently put down my arm and sat up straight on the couch. The couch is torn to shreds. It has it’s fluff all over the ground with the outside of it too. I slowly moved up my hips so I could remove my belt. The belt is brown, the holes are uneven, and the end is torn. The belt is tough, you could not cut it with perhaps a kitchen knife no matter hard you try. I held the belt out in front of me. It dropped below my hand as I held it out. I then let go of the belt. I know it is not how to treat children. I know that the only thing that hitting my teaches them is to to be afraid of me and that they should be violent. it teaches them that violence is how you should treat your children if your decision is to how them. Children are a beautiful thing. They are not people to just adopt your opinions and then throw them out into the world. They are not people to force them to think what you think or like what you like. They are just people like us going on an adventure to adulthood. Sometimes this adventure is frustrating, sometimes it can be quite boring. But no matter what it is, you get to see a flower bloom. They are blooming constantly and are affected by their circumstances. You could go into these circumstances can be an affluent family or a poverty stricken, underprivileged, impoverished, penniless, meager, necessitous family with a mother who beats them. That is definitely what I think and there is nothing that change the fact that I am a terrible parent. I mean… my children think that, and they are probably the best people to have an opinion on that. I sometimes give myself hope that I can somehow redeem myself to my children. But deep inside I know that I am a bad parent and I can not get out of that label by anybody, even my old husband.

Chapter IIII: Julian’s PerspectiveI stood at the bottom of the three stairs that led up to my worthless house. My brother was standing right to the side of

me as we looked at the door covered in filth. My brother was standing with his back hunched over due to his heavy backpack filled with books that don’t even teach him. The books that probably weigh about 15 pounds with useless material. 15 pounds of junk that the teachers try so hard to put in the students’ heads. He started to go up the stairs to the house. He had made a jump attempting to skip one of the stairs as he went up. We had stumbled slightly but had regained his balance by touching his fingertips against the dirty ground. Then he stood up straight and stopped sharply as if he was confused. He turned his head slightly to look at me. I could see his brown eyes and the little reflection of me that I could see in his pupils. He looked me right in the eyes, he was perched up about two feet higher than me because of the stairs. He looked down on me and then his right eye slightly twitched and his facial expression looking confused. His face reminded me of a dogs when it is confused. It has one ear up like a German Shepards and the other one drooping down like a Jack Russell Terrier. Then the dogs also have their heads tilted at a 20 degree angle to the side. He had that type of look. Then he asked with a muffled, soft tone of voice, “Aren’t you coming up too?”

I marinated on that simple question for almost 10 seconds before actually answering. I responded with a soft voice and a large sigh just before talking. Then I said, “I don’t want to quite yet.”

Then he slightly closed his eye and made another bewildered face and asked, “Why not?”I did not answer for about 30 seconds, but I still looked him straight in the eye. I grinded my teeth a little and just

looked at him with a look that said, “You wouldn't understand.” Even though he probably would and would be able to explain it much better as well. So he asked, “Why not,” again asking as if he had something to do and that I was wasting his precious time. He said in a much louder voice and one that was seemingly trying to catch my attention as if I was zoning out.

So as a response I said again, “I don’t want to quite yet!” I said it this time in a dead serious, severe, strict voice that ended the conversation for good. I let out my anger once again at him today. He must feel terrible about his life, he lives with two clods, one is his brother who should be helping him greatly, and the other is his mother who has just given up on life. He looked scared of me now. He looked intimidated, despite me not even trying to. Then I said with a sad voice that was loud and sounded desperately in need, “What’s a damn guy gotta do to just have a good life. You don’t understand, mom’s given up on anything remotely helpful to me… jesus, she doesn’t help anybody! I think she probably thinks that taking out the belt is the only way to raise a child! Oh, and now just look, you're scared of me now! My god, I don’t have any friends, and now I have one more person who hates me! Just go inside now, I can’t stand looking at your face anymore!”

I looked at my brother with my mix of angry and sad face as I was breathing very hard. I noticed my heart rate went up drastically. I started to let my arms down in relief that I did not go any further. My head was tilted to the side slightly as I was looking at him. He seemed to now be on the verge of tears. His face was red as a strawberry and his eyes were slightly closed. He had a few eye creases due to his eyes being slightly closed. His feet looked like they barely could support all of his weight. His shoulders bent over and he had a little amount of sweat that went across his hairline. The edges of his mouth curved down more towards the side of his cheek. To the side of his nose, there was small wrinkles that went to the middle of his cheek. Then he turned around on his two feet, very slowly. He lifted himself up on his toes and then turned around as slow as molasses. Then he walked very slowly to the front door. He had his head down and his arms hung down low. His hands reached almost to his knees because his back was slouched down. His arms were covered ash, so they looked white, and they were just hanging down. He then turned his head very slowly to look at me, he looked at me with his sad eye with a hint of red all around his eyes, like he was about to cry.

After just exchanging looks, I started to get a little mad. I used to feel a hint of sadness because he lived with an idiot and a mother who can’t put food on the table. But I started to get a little mad. I did not seem to be able to say what I feel without

somebody hating me. Then I looked at him long and hard at him. My face started to get madder and madder as he kept on looking at me. As each second went by, I could not stand him even more, him and nobody makes an effort to help me. After all these years I do as best I can to put some food in his stomach. I’m the one who took care of him after father had left, but why should I help him now, he can just cry and I will just forget what I really think? So I said to him very sternly, “So let me get this straight, because I want to express myself, now I have to have the pain of somebody hating me?” I had my eyes wide open to emphasize the point that I was dead serious. I also had my mouth open as if I was going to yell at my brother some more. But I had just stopped there.

“I don’t know,” my brother said softly in a voice that sounded like he was about to burst into tears and in a soft voice.“Apparently that is what... ,” I just stopped I saw no point in yelling anymore. He already hates me as much as a brother

can hate his sibling. My face had turned to looking like there was no hope in my future. I took a long drawn out sigh that echoed softly through the violent streets of Washington DC. I closed my mouth and I let my eyelids slightly go down. I had given up now, I saw no point in going on in this endless battle with my mother. Nobody was going to win, the best that could happen is that I would get on with my life. Do something and leave my little brother to rot. At least that would be the best for me. I sat down on the cold door step with little tiny rocks sticking out and slightly poking me. My heart rate went down, I had felt much calmer. I had felt that I had said what I thought to my brother. Even though he does not care, even though he hates me now, at least I said what I thought to him. I mean, I can’t do it to my mother, she’d just contribute to the problem more if I said anything negative about her. But my brother, he just got really mad at me. Now he probably will hate me for months now, but I feel better. My big problem is that what I just said is in no way a compliment to him. I insulted his lack to be empathetic to me. I guess he just did not want to, well, put on my shoes and take walk in them, embrace my situation, my responsibilities, my life. He does not know how it feels to be in the situation that I am in. But I think he will eventually, he will get to be in my situation, and he will look back at me, and say that I understand my brother now. Then I will know, whenever that is, and god knows where I will be, but wherever I am, I will laugh my heart out. So on that cold door step, I let out a chuckle. My eyes started to wrinkle, my mouth curled up, and my eyes had a hint of joy. It is the first time in too long that that has happened. But it did, for once in a while, due to a smile, somebody could actually see my teeth. My brother was bewildered by this sudden chuckle, he was actually quite insulted. He was feeling sad, but despite that I let out a chuckle. But I did not care much, because I had a hint of joy, it faded away, but it came by for a short visit.

After that, my brother had slowly opened the door to go inside. He walked inside and the wooden floors creaked. The creakes made a high pitched noise that really hurt my ears. He started to cry when he got into the house. Crying, pleading for mercy to mother, begging to not be beaten. He also was crying about my unexpected burst of anger. As he was about to close the door, I saw his face that had slight hints of red due to crying. His cheeks and around his slightly squinted eyes was red. Then there was one big tear going down his smooth face. The tear came out of his left eye, went down slowly his left cheek until it reached his chin. When it got to his chin it suddenly stopped. It stopped for a few seconds, until dropping to the cold floor. When it dropped another one started to form in his right eye and the process. His eyes were wet and looked sad. Then he started to push the door shut, he was looking at me as long as he could before completely closing the door. I looked straight ahead of me. There was more houses that were crappy with doors that were scratched and torn up. There were also windows that were cracked, broken or just removed. Then the sky above all of the houses was beautiful. It had a nice yellow hint in it, it also had a little red and orange in it. The sun was a bright mix of orange and white that made the sky have a focus point. the clouds had a majestic feel about them. They were an orange color but they looked quite faded away and not thick or solid. It looked like a watercolor painting. The orange and the yellow blended together. Right above the houses it looked black, and then there was the sun which I only could see half of. It was like there was an artist with aspirations, and he had no canvas, so he just painted the sky.

After a few minutes had past, I got up. I had gotten up very slowly, as I was getting up my muscles started to crack. I felt it in my knees and my feet. When I got up completely I stood up tall. I looked at the sunset a little while longer until turning around very slowly. To turn, I stood up tall on my tippy toes and then had turned around very slowly on them. I looked at our front door, as I stared at longer it had seemed more and more screwed up. I walked the first of the short little steps that were hard and and the little uneven rocks in the stairs stuck out and poked me a little. The second step was the same, the little rocks dug into my worn out shoes. Then the third was the same as well. I was at the top and I turned my head slightly to see the sun slowly going down. The sun setting looked like the different colored paints suddenly being washed down by the painter. Washed down and then I could slightly see the painters next painting of night. I turned my head back to look at the door that looked so close to just falling down. I walked two steps and I found myself one foot away from the door. Then I gave the door a slight push. It creaked while it was opening, and it allowed me to see the faces of the people I spend my life with.

4 Chapter I: Teacher’s Perspective

When I started working at this school I was excited. I thought it was a great opportunity to teach these kids who were in need. These kids who were most likely born in tough circumstances. The circumstances that could turn a kid who has an amazingly bright mind into a criminal. This setting in Washington DC with the part these kids are living in is brutal. They have to overcome many things, like for starters just living in a family where nobody is even remotely involved in the gangs. I thought I could change these kids, encourage them to not be involved in the things that their ancestors might be involved in. I did not want the kids to that, and for a little bit I tried to get them out of the future that might have in reality been inevitable. Now I think I have given up on that dream of changing the children. I don’t think it is possible anymore. I really don’t want to give up on these children, but I think I might have to. These children might have a future that I can’t change. I don’t want to think that, but I think to help myself I have to be truthful, even though it really hurts me to say.

When I started, I remember clearly two days before school. I played my favorite songs while preparing the class. I remember vividly my experience. I remember flipping the chairs over on where the children would sit. The chairs were beaten up. They had scratches across the chairs, some had weird liquids spilled on them and they stayed there. I flipped them over on the tables to scrape off any gum that the children left there. I took a flat headed screwdriver and hit hard against the stale gum. I got off the gum pretty well on most of the chairs, but when I took them off at the beginning of the year the children put more gum on.

When I was just starting to teach at the school, I bought a lot of new items. I bought a brand new cabinet in which I painted a light blue. The cabinet was supposed to hold each students work. It had each student's piece of work. I teach English Language Arts so each story they wrote would go in there and then during parent teacher conferences I would show the work to the student’s parents. But one day, I have no idea when, but somebody had burned all the files inside that cabinet. I found out one day when I walked into the room and there was a cloud of smoke that filled the room. It was a thick cloud, I could not see two feet in front of me. The cloud of smoke was a light gray but the shadows made it darker as it was lower to the ground. I was coughing a lot. My eyes were tearing up as I was walking closer and closer to the cabinet. My arm was bent out in front of my eyes as I was hitting against the tables. It was so filled with smoke I could not navigate myself through a simply laid out room. I fell down from hitting against a table. From that fall my arm broke and I had a scratch above my eye that bled down my face. I made a huge grunting noise that only someone in the room could hear. I got up slowly only using my legs only with no support. I went over to where the smoke was heaviest which was in a corner of the room. Then the smoke alarm went off. “Breeeeee, breeeeee, breeeeee, breeeeee,” was the sound it made. It echoed loudly in the room and through the hallways. I walked forward, but then I bumped into a window. I could not find the latch of the window, and I was searching all over it with my hand. But that was the one window that was cracked, it had a huge crack down the middle of the glass. When I pushed against the glass, it shattered. The glass shattered all over the room. The glass had also dug into my hand. It bled all over the shattered window pieces scattered on the floor. Blood got on my shirt and all over my pants. Then I had touched the heater to make it easier to go down to the floor with my arm that was not broken. But since the heater was on and had been on for several hours, I had burnt my hand. I screamed as loud as I could while I fell to the floor. When I was on the floor, I was bleeding intensely. The blood got all over the place and I was loosing my blood fast. The blood got all over my clothes, my face and the floor. People had finally came in to help me. People had called the doctor and the doctors took me out as fast as they possibly could. They put me in an ambulance and then just drove me to the hospital. I was extremely dizzy and had passed out. When I was awake again they had told me that I was losing blood at an extremely fast pace and that is why I had lost consciousness. That incident happened right after the end of the school year a little more than a year ago. I guess one of my 6th or 8th grade students got much too excited or had been dared to burn my cabinets. But I was successfully dealt with at the hospital, and I began teaching when the school year began again. I cleaned up the classroom, anything that was currently damaged I replaced. Thn the classroom looked like it did before, it was good as new. Now that memory is implanted in my head, and it will stay there until death.

I came to this school to teach. The principle allowed me to teach here because she wanted to replace a teacher here. I came here to replace a man by the name of Christophe LeMaque. He was French, he came from Paris and moved to Washington DC. I don’t know why anybody would want to move from possibly the nicest place in the world to one that is filthy and rat infested. But he said that it was too much money in France. He had a funny joke, “If you made the translated the frequencies in France and in America, in America, a soda costs 99 cents, while in France I go to a local store and any drink costs $7.99. In France, any store you go to is like a 799 cent store.” That is why he claimed to have moved to America, just too expensive, but I think it was because he wanted to go places. He was living there for all his life, and I think he kind of got tired of it there. Though it is one of the most gorgeous cities, he thought that everything got a little boring. Like any San Franciscan can get tired of the Golden Gate Bridge. He had a thick accent. Somebody who only speaks English would not understand him. He was definitely not fluent in English. He often spoke fragments of a sentence in English. He also accidentally spoke French words when he was supposed to speak English. I don’t know how he became an English teacher, could not speak English fluently. I guess he was the only person who applied for the job because it is such a bad job. I mean nobody would want a job with a bad salary in Washington DC, especially a poor part of the city. Where the children are stupid, they are also frustrating beyond imagination. Then the teachers have to deal with that and get paid amazingly low. I don’t think the teacher handled the problem with the students very well. He often used acts of violence to teach these kids a lesson. He probably contributed greatly to these kid’s state of violence and their future of possibly committing crimes. He would beat the kids for doing things they should not do. If they talked a little in class, they would be beaten, if they did not do their homework, he would beat them. He probably thought he was teaching them a valuable lesson, but I think he was really just contributing to the kids’ state of being messed up as adults. So after a kid had told his parents about Christophe LeMaque or Mr. LeMaque beating him. Then this information was sent to the school, and the teacher got fired. This kid wrote something about his experience as well. He wrote it in a little notebook and had given it to the school. The text was this:

Date is April 30, 2012 Written by: Isaiah SmithMy next class is English. The teacher is Mr. Marque, he talks loudly like a king and has a thick accent. The kids hardly understand him his accent is so thick. He had nice clothes on, a tan trench coat that went down to a little below his knees, a scarf that wrapped around his neck like an anaconda, the scarf was a light gray and was soft like a small dog’s fur. He also had tan pants that you could only see a little of near his ankles. His shoes were nice, they were black and shiny like a keen blade. His face was wrinkled all around his eyes, and he was not of black descent unlike most in the community of the school. His eyes were blue, because of that he would refer to himself as the Paul Newman of teachers, even though nobody in the class knew who he was. He had a mouth that seemed to be in a constant state of an agitated frown. He had two big wrinkles down his cheek and that started

at his nose. He had a big nose that pointed out and was very straight on the top. He had a lot of small wrinkles all over his face that usually lead to the outside of his face. He had gray hair, it was mostly all gray but he also had some white hairs sticking out as well. He had a very… not evil face, but it was intimidating.

I walked into my class and took a seat in my chair that is made out of plastic. My chair had huge scratch on it that went right across the middle of it. Once everybody had taken a seat, he started to speak.

“Today we will continue to write our stories about a time when (1) saw somebody unexpectedly when somewhere (2) a scary time in your life or (3) did something you regret that had a consequence on either you or someone you know.” he exclaimed in a loud voice that filled the room with noise. “Now please begin.”

He was tall about 6 feet 3 inches. He had a big torso and was fit, he was not big in any way. He then walked to the left to sit in his “teacher chair”, as he called it. His chair was black and made out of a very nice leather. I got my writing out my backpack that holes and stains all over it. Inside my backpack there were crumpled up papers that were thrown in there at some point in time. I searched around my backpack with my calloused hand, searching desperately for my paper. I searched to the bottom of my bag where there was something wet, I picked it up from my backpack lifting other papers from years past out of my bag, but when I looked at it, it was not the piece of paper I was expecting to find, so then I searched in my front pocket that was smaller and held not many papers. I found my paper there, it was crumpled, but I still held as one from my best possessions. It was option number (2) a scary time in my life. The story is about when I was almost was hit by a car. I was on my bike while I was riding down a steep hill and a car with a quite young driver who was staring at a phone. He was about 19, was not the best at driving, far from it. As I was riding down this hill and he came speeding backwards out of his driveway, unaware of his surroundings. He hit the wheel of my bike and I had spun out of control, spinning around and around until finally hitting the ground. My knee was scratched badly and my face had a cut on it, right on my forehead. I was knocked for a few minutes. I was dizzy, the experience of spinning out of control was nausiating.My stomache hurt, I had an outrageously painful headache. I think I had experienced a concussion.I could barely stand up straight, let alone walking in a clear line. I had never experienced anything that scary ever before that day. I have a line in it that I really enjoy and think it is very true. I said that, “Giving people the opportunity and the gift of driving is like like giving people a way to accidently or purposely harm others.” I find it quite queer that you are allowed to drive before you can drink. It is like being able to hurt others before than you can hurt yourself. My father shared this opinion with me, if anything I got it from him. He hated driving, just the very idea made him shake. He was a smart man, only if he was still alive to see me write what at least I think is a great story.

My story was only three pages, the teacher commanded us to do five. He was very strict about it, he did not want anything less. It had to be handwritten so the length of the essays varied greatly on if the handwriting was huge, or if it was small. He was slowly going through the essays. He called one of us up, read the essays and then gave us feedback. Often the feedback was, “Start over!” or, “This is terrible, if there is anything you need to fix, it is the very idea of writing the story in the first place!” It was hard to get a decent grade in his class due to his lack of empathy and compassion. The smartest of students struggle to get the achievement of a C in his class. He shares all of the grades in the class, going from the worst to the best. Every week he does it, I don’t know if it is to purposely shame us, or just lack of understanding the position that he puts us in when he does that. Last week, the best grade was… 65.7%. The very smartest student got a D. Not that it was his fault, it is most likely the teacher’s faultiness. I however got a 32.1%, he thought my work was so bad that I got a F. I turned everything in, I did all of the assignments, I put hours of work into the homework, and I deserved an F for that. Not even a D, not a D-, but a solid, big, red F. I figure this is the project that can redeem me from that F. I put hours and hours of work into this glorious story, that I humbly believe that he will give an A. The first A is months that this teacher could give out. Heck, I’ll even say that I could get a passing grade on.

He was almost going to call my name. I was excited and nervous at the same time. I had ants in my pants but still a big smile that went across my face. The biggest smile that anybody has ever had in this class. I frequently asked the questions, “Will he like it?”, “Will he think it deserves an A?”I certainly think so, but it is my work, I am probably bound to feel great about it. He called by alphabetical order, my name is Antonio Warren. So I was near the last of the group, which I am okay with. He called up a friend of mine named James, he went up to the teacher with a good posture and had his five page story in his right hand. He had a kind of anxious face on, he was always nervous about this kind of stuff. He walked over to the teacher waiting in his chair which he often treated like some sort of throne. He walked over with his feet facing in and he had his fists clenched. He put his paper down on the teacher’s desk that was clean and was dark brown. It’s a wooden desk, very polished and pretty as well. He had papers on it, papers with grades on them by his various 6th and 8th grade students. The grades were usually grades like Fs and Ds. The occasional lucky student got a C. He graded with a big red stamp that had the grade on it. He has all the grades, from F to A+. But he never takes out the really good ones, he should just leave them at home because they serve no purpose. James lay his paper flat on the desk and the teacher just stared at him. He just looked at him for 20 seconds and said nothing. Then he finally looked down at the paper to finally read it. He had his eyebrow up and occasionally look at James. He took his sweet time before finally flipping a page and then he began to take another 2 minutes per page. Then before he actually finished the story, he gave James a look. Then he said, “Do you think this is a quality story?” he said with a voice like he was saying that he could not possibly think the story is actually good.

Then James looked at him with a face like he was frightened but he was trying to hold it inasmuch as he could. He then said, “I don’t know, that is up to the reader.” James said trying to be satirical but some of his fright came through that joke that he was trying to make it seem charming.

“Oh, it is!” the teacher said. “Well, I think it is an F.” He said in a voice he was trying to make seem evil. He had a demonic smile on his face for the five seconds it took for him to say that. But then it was wiped off very quickly.

“Well… then I guess I think it was good.” James said sort of questioning himself for saying that. Then he had a little smile that looked like a mix of scared and questioning himself.

“I think just because you said that, you deserve a C.” the teacher said with a smile that was nice. Like the smile that your grandma would give you as she is making cookies.

“Really?” James asked in an excited tone of voice and acted like a dog who just saw someone that lives with it at a dog park.

“Sure,” he said still having that smile. So he bent over to get his grading stamp under his desk. He took one out, put it in his ink, and then stamped it and pushed it down on the paper as hard as he could. The grade showed up as an F. Then the teacher said, “Oh, my mistake! Too bad these things are permanent, right? Whatever, people make mistakes!” he said with a little chuckle to go with the humiliation of James that it seemed by his face that it had torn him apart.

“But, but, but…” James muttered under his breath to himself with a sad face. “But what, I am the teacher I make the red letters that go on your report card. There is absolutely no “buts” that can

deny that. Or is there Mr. Warren?” He said with a completely demonic smile. “Now, I have an urgent question to you Mr. Warren,” the teacher said very slowly and drawn out, like he was trying to create some sort of suspense, “why… aren’t… you… in… your…” he said each word slower than the last, “... SEAT!” He said suddenly bursting into anger that scared James’ socks off. James started to shake and just stand there looking at the teacher in his eyes. His eyes got watery, his cheeks red, and then a tear suddenly went down his cheek. The class was silent as the teacher let out his devilish yell that echoed through the school halls. Every kid in the class was rattled, they were almost shaking as much as James. They were all looking at james as he suddenly bursted into tears. Tears were going down his face, dripping down on his shirt, and he was the saddest he had ever been in his life. The teacher just sat there, then he picked up a finger nail clipper and had took out the little knife inside of it to finally pick out the dirt of his nails.

The teacher finally stood up as tall as he could. He had his shoulders back, his chest out and a very straight and tall posture. He walked to the middle of the room, looked all around the class, while he tilted his head to the side. Then he grabbed James by the shoulder and made him turn to the class. Then the teacher yelled as loud as he possibly could, “This young man, by the name of James Warren, is stupid. He is mindless and knows nothing but how to please himself. He is a narcissistic foolish little simple child. He is shortsighted, he is a bad student, and most likely, a bad friend. Just for that, just for the simple fact that not him, or his parents can deny, just for that he is a bad person, he will have 10,000 reminder lines. Reminder lines saying, “I will be less stupid, and I will be better.” That again, “I will be less stupid, and I will be better.” Than that again for 10,000 times. Each time it will remind him how pathetic he is. He must complete that task, by the end of the school day. Which conveniently ends in 1 hour. If he can not complete this task, the number of lines will double. If anybody is good at math here, so not James, you would know that 10,000 times two is 20,000. So Mr. James Warren, I think you best get to work.” The teacher said demonically. So then he pushed James to the floor that was dirty and that was smeared with black ink in which somebody had spilled.

James was on the floor crying, and he could barely push himself up. So people had came James helping him up and saying to him that the teacher was not nice. That the teacher should not have done that.

The teacher then put his hand to his forehead and wiped his eyes as his extra skin overlapped his other skin. Then he looked at the class and said, “I said James was stupid. Not that he needed help getting up because he was weak. I mean, you kids think that you're part of one big community that really bonds together. But I’m really sorry to burst your bubble, but, the most friendly thing I have seen in the class is this. This is when somebody is being verbally abused, as you would say. Hell, you guys would say he is being physically abused. I call it, just disciplining him, but…”

“Shut up!” I screamed at the teacher in a loud voice. As loud as I possibly could with my tiny little lungs. “Nobody wants to hear that! That is what are parents say as they are beating us hard as they can with the metal side of their belts. That is what they say as we have tears drip from our eyes and we are screaming with the last bit of self pride we have left! So fine, tell us that, tell us that you are on the good side here, we will just be thinking of the one thing that our parents do to us that they think is right.” I was proud of myself for saying that to him, even though that now he is now going to do something that will demoralize me for the rest of my days here at the wretched school.

“Yeah,” some of the other kids yelled. “Oh really? Is this some sort of rebellion because I was mean to you. Whatever that word means any more, it is being

thrown around so much these days that it seems like it has no value. Like money, if there is too much of it, it loses value. If there is not enough, it becomes scarce and too hard to get your hands on. Therefore it is valuable. But in this case it is much different. Nobody has ever stood up to me such as you just did, but since all of you are so stupid and untalented that it would not matter how much it is said.” He said having a really stern face as he scratched his chin. “So please, spare me mine and your time by just shutting up.”

I was still standing up and looking at him in an angry face but I could not muster up any words to stand up for the whole classroom. So I sat down quietly with a humiliated face and I put my head down in shame. Like I could not stand up for anybody. Kids were still standing up all around in the classroom and they seemed furious. I saw James out of the corner of my eye and he seemed mad and humiliated, despite the fact that every kid in the class is on his side. He got out paper and he started to write his lines. He put his pencil down on the white paper as a tear dripped down and splashed on the table. He moved his hand quickly across the paper, down and back. Then again, down and back on the paper, “I will be less stupid, and I will be better.” This was nonsense. James is not dumb. I know for a fact that he is not. He has a big heart and he is a great person. It probably hits him so hard because his parents say things like that to him. He is a great person, he does not deserve these meaningless insults that people think are making him better, but it is probably just lowering his self esteem.

Mr. LeMarque then shouted out, “Everybody, if you do not sit down in your seats in 5…” he counted down as he looked around the classroom, inspecting everybody position, “4…” he said in a king’s voice, low and deep, “3… 2… 1… 0…”

Nobody was standing, everybody was still as a rock in there cold plastic seats, sitting down. But despite that fact, he shouted out, “Oops, James… I’m sorry, you’re standing. Class, you are in detention for three

hours. Three hours, you don’t get to sleep, no talking, and as a writing assignment, you must write a 5 page story only taking place in 10 seconds of time. If it is not good, start over, you will do that until three hours is done.”

“What…” James said, “I was not standing up!” James looked around in a confused face, and he saw angry people looking at him. All around the room only angry faces pointed at James. “I don’t deserve this!” James said like once again he was going to cry. “Why me!” James screamed out, and finally, the teacher had completed his goal of ruining a child’s school life.

Then the teacher said, “It is you because, you were standing up. And you…” he pointed at me, “come up here. I am going to use you as a demonstration.” I came up, nervous as I ever was, and I looked at him with a red face. I was scared out of my mind, scared of the unknown. Then the teacher said, “Go back, get your story too, I want to see it.”

So I went back as fast as I could, as everybody had their eyes pointed solidly on me. I was at my table standing right above my crumpled piece of paper, that I adored so much. Then I looked back at the teacher, and me looked at me with his face slightly pointed down, but his eyes on me, with his smile that seemed like he wanted to torture somebody. He looked around at everybody before finally saying, “We are waiting.” So I walked back to the teacher with my paper and my feet feeling like weights that I could barely lift up my feet. I looked up at the teacher, with my eyes tearing up as I gave him my paper. He looked at it with slightly squinted eyes as he quickly turned the pages, not spending the time to actually read the paper.

The he put in his arms down to his side and said as he was shaking his head slightly. Then he spoke the words, “I did not like it. That is the scariest thing that has ever happened to you? That is peculiar, maybe I can outmatch that.”

Wait… he just said that he wanted to outmatch that experience inj how scary it was. I began to shake, get scared. He shook his head side to side and chuckled slightly, then he took my paper, held it straight out in front of him, and then tore all of my paper apart. Several man hours went into that paper, but despite that he felt it was necessary to rip it in half like it is nothing. I started to breathe heavily and cried. The tears went down my face as he was laughing at me. Humiliating me. He dropped the paper shreds to the ground as he laughed at me. The paper fell slowly like and shifted it’s direction side to side as it was falling, like a feather of a bird. He then spit down on my paper he started to stomp on it. The little spit drop fell down and hit my paper softly, but it felt like he was pouring a whole glass of water on my paper. As he stomped on my precious paper it ripped, tore it apart even more. I could see the black foot print on the paper.

After I could not handle his abuse any longer, I screamed as loud as I could at him. With my finger in his face and I spoke the words, “Why did you become a teacher? To abuse kids and then blame them for wrong doings that they did not even do? To beat them, and then claim that you did it for their own good? To deny stupidity and blame it on us like a two year old child? To make kids feel like they are always beaten at school, only to come home with a scar on their cheek and see their mother’s take off their sandal? To make these kids feel like garbage that nobody likes, nobody care about, and who nobody even donates an ounce of respect to? To only emphasize the point that nobody will ever be on their side? Huh, what is the reason? What is the damn reason?

He looked mad at me, furious. His face red, his out and bent to the side like he was about to push me to the floor. But most of all the devil’s eyes. He slowly lifted his foot up as his knee bent. Then he stomped on my foot as hard as he could, it felt like 10,000 pounds was dropped on it. I screamed as loud as I possibly could, it pained many people's ears including my own. Then he pushed me back so I fell right down on my head. My head was wet on the back precisely where I hit it. I assumed it was blood, but I tried not to think about it. I was screaming my head off as the teacher bent down and looked straight into my eyes. He looked madder than I had ever seen him before. Then he shouted with all the noise and power that he had ever let out, he screamed to me, “Do you really want to know why I became a teacher? Well here is the answer, I wanted to see, how frightened a child’s eyes could look! I also wanted to see what living devil’s look like! There are about 700 in this one school. They are all idiots and they are all like you!” As you said the word “you” he right on the forehead with his cold finger. He put my head flat on the floor as he then pushed himself up.

He was then standing straight up while he was looking into my eyes with a disappointed face. He then spoke loudly out to the class, “This writing assignment is due today. At the end of the class period. If it is not five pages long, then you will face consequences. If it is bad, you will face consequences, if you did not do anything,” he stopped to look at me, then turned his head back to the class, “then you will stay after school with me, and we will commence, if you will, in a conversation.” He said looking around the classroom, “So please finish it in a reasonable time. You have 15 minutes left in class. Thank you.”

He then walked over to his desk and looked at my eyes with a look saying, “I won.” Then I thought of that as I was getting up. As my muscles cracked and my whole body shaking. I thought to myself that well, of course he won, of course. He has the power over me to get me in trouble, humiliate me, and demoralize me. He can do all those things to me, at any date in time. I got up completely and there was dirt over me, and there was chuckles all around the room directed at me. I got to my seat very quickly as the teacher had his eye balls pointed right at me. Then I saw my paper on the floor. It was ripped in half but still, i could easily just tape it together. So what if it is not five pages. It is better than not having any pages. So I went over to my paper, proud of myself for thinking of the idea. But when my muscles started to crack, the teacher said to me, “What do you think you’re doing!” He said accusing me of committing some crime. “You did not write enough on that paper, so you must write one that is big enough.” He said again with his devilish smile. “So you can go back to your seat and write… your… paper.” He then had a big smile that went across his face and a little evil smile.

“But there is only like a few more minutes of school left, I can’t write my whole essay again. I spent several hours on the one before. I can not just redo one as good in a few minutes. I just can;t. You have to let me just tape together my old one.”

“No,” he said to me in a firm voice, “Write it again, at your desk, now.”“I can’t!”“You must you lazy idiot!” He yelled at me with spit coming out of his mouth, “So get your lazy butt down to your desk

and shut your mouth! If you refuse to do that then I will staple your goddamn mouth together with a staple gun.”“But…”“There are no buts, there is just you getting back to your seat,” he said, as he searched in his desk. I had no idea what

he was searching for until he lifted up and dropped from about an inch up a staple gun. He looked at me with dead serious eyes. I went back to my seat, still mad. Then the bell rung loudly. It filled the halls with noise and the classroom went wild. the teacher stood up and said as loud as he possibly could, “ Leave your finished papers on your desks, I will pick them up, thank you.”

Everybody hurried out of the room to get out of the terrible classroom as fast as they could. I tried to go with them, but the teacher could easily spot me, and he said, “Come back in the room Isaiah!” The teacher said to me. I felt the tension inside me. I walked up to him with my eyes worried and my body was shaking. I looked up to him and he looked down at me with a look that was devious. He walked around the classroom and collecting the papers. He’d grab them one by one very gently still looking at me. He walked with loud steps almost as if he was stomping on the floor. After he went around the classroom thoroughly collecting the papers that he would probably grade a D or lower. He then walked up to me with a huge stack of papers in his hand and then held them out to me. He looked at me before finally saying, “Can you say for yourself that you have a paper?”

I muttered under my breathe, “No,”and looked at him in a worried face.“Exactly as I expected. After all that is why you're stuck in here with me,” he said to me with his head slightly tilted to

the side. “Or maybe as you would call it, hell,” he said softly. Then he suddenly threw all the papers back. The white sheets of paper went about 7 feet in the air in a few seconds, with the individual pieces going their own separate way in the air. Some of the papers flying off their own separate way, Then the papers fell softly to the ground. They were going as slow as honey going down a tea cup. The papers were swaying back and forth and stayed in the air for about 10 seconds. All during that time the teacher was staring into my worried eyes. Then the papers sat completely on the floor.

The teacher finally had done something. He had moved his hand to my shoulder. He then walked forward, maintaining the strong grip on my shoulder that only got stronger. He walked up so far that my back was on the whiteboard, getting the white chalk on my shirt. He then opened his mouth and spoke the words, “What if everybody hated you and they were the people who you spent the most time working with? What would you do? I have spent years and years teaching, all of the students really hate me since I started. But now I have learned to except that, and the only way I have learned to cope with it and actually make it enjoyable for me is to make the kids hate me more. So now that is good for me because now, I get to insult the students.”

Then he suddenly threw me across the chalkboard and into a chair. His face looked evil and I was breathing as hard as I ever was before. As my hand rubbed against the board, my fingers got marks from the friction. My fingers were bleeding and the stung, they were bothersome to me. Then h…

The writing strangely stopped there. Right in the middle of where he was probably going to write “he”. I don’t know how it got ripped, or even why. All we know is that after that the kid ran out of the room, away from the teacher, and he was screaming and crying. We also know that there was blood all over the kid and that the kid also had to go to the hospital right after due to a broken arm. Only the kid knows what happened in there, and he won’t tell anybody, he says he is embarrassed. The kid went screaming to a security officer who came into the room and who had beat the teacher. I don’t see why the security officer did that, I mean he tried to solve acts of violence by committing acts of violence, it makes no sense to me personally. This kid is not in the school anymore. He did not graduate, he just did not go to the school anymore, for about a year. That incident happened towards the end of seventh grade, and he never went to school again. Plus the school does not have enough money to repeat grades, so… he would not be going here anymore. I wonder what happened with that kid. He had a bright mind. I hope I see him, I have met him once, I wonder if we will, I would notice him. I think I would definitely notice him.

I kind of feel good for that teacher, Mr. Marque. He was obviously enjoying what he did, when he did it. But he was a depressed man. But he had joy when he was doing what he did that day. He hated his job, and then he was fired, at least he was happy about it. Despite him scaring the poor child, Isaiah.

5Chapter I: Edgar’s Perspective

I saw my brother finally walk into the house. He walked straight into our room. He did not say a word. I am not sure what his facial expression was, he went by much too fast for me to see clearly. I doubt he could that pleased. I was just sitting in a chair, still as a rock, while reading The Catcher in the Rye, by JD Salinger. I here I have a copy with a very famous cover. It is just red, plain red, with the words “The Catcher in the Rye” at the top in yellow, and then again in yellow, “J.D. Salinger.” It is a controversial novel originally published for adults, it has since become popular with adolescent readers for its themes of teenage angst and alienation. The novel's protagonist Holden Caulfield has become an icon for teenage rebellion. The novel also deals with complex issues of identity, belonging, loss, connection, and alienation.

Mother got up after a while to say something to Julian. She walked towards the door, and looked at Julian in the face. Then she said to him, “I am sorry I can’t be like your father. I am sorry that you're living in this dump with no food. I am sorry that I can not get enough mon…”

“Dad could not either after all. His job was on the streets, selling dru…”“I know,” mom said ending the conversation, “I know.”

Chapter II: Edgar’s PerspectiveThe next morning I got up in my mattress and stretched my arms as far as I could either way. My mouth was wide open

and I had small eye boogers in my eye lashes. I looked around the room and it was dark. I could see my brother but not clearly. I

could tell it was around 6:20. The little light that was in the room was blue but any dark shadows were a solid black. I got up slowly and completely so as not to wake Julian from his deep slumber. As I stated to stand the mattress squeaked but the slight sound thankfully failed to wake him. He just turned over towards me and I could see his closed eye while the other eye was covered by him sinking into the mattress. I walked slowly to my small desk, and as I walked on the plain wood I saw a huge cack leading into the other room. I put my foot on the crack softly and it squeaked loudly, but still the sound thankfully failed to wake him. I took one big step towards the desk. I picked up my cold watch that had a metal band and dust covered all over the glass. There was a small light that was on both of the hands so if it was a dark place like the position I was in. The time was precisely 6:22. I remember I got this watch from my dad. He always loved to give a nice watch as a gift, he gave one to mother as well. It was his signature gift that he would give to people. Julian never got one. I don’t know why. They did not have an as strong relationship as say me and father did. Julian thought he was in something, like some sort of… well, I don’t really know actually. He said part of it last night, I know he said about drugs. But I have no idea why he thought that and still thinks that. I think he has a story about it, like that he saw it. Before last night our mother denied it, but last night she did not. So I have no idea if it is true or not. I have decided not to think about it.

I walked out of the room very quietly and slowly. My brother usually got up pretty early, like 6:00. I don’t know why he did not this day. Mom usually does not wake up until like 9:00. She leaves it up to us to head out the door ourselves. Or it is just that she does not care, that is what Julian would say any way, I do not know if I particularly agree with it. I think she could spend more time with us in a meaningful fashion, but it is not that she does not care, I think it is that before she relied on dad to take care of us and after all this time she never really let go of that way of living quite yet. I don’t know if she will give it up either, I guess I will find out.

There was no door separating my room and the main room. I walked into the main room. It was dark in there to, filled with the small amount of blue light as well. Mom slept on the couch, she always has, out of all the places in the house there is where she spends the most time. I was going to brush my teeth, but so as not to disturb mother, I did not. So I decided to walk back into my room. But actually thinking about what my brother does in the morning, he did not really think about waking mom up. So I came to the conclusion of to just brush my teeth. We had something for brushing teeth, like a station of sorts. We had a vibrant red cup, that we were supposed to spit in over the course of brushing the teeth. There is also a gallon of water that we drink out of. Lastly, there was obviously the actual tooth brushes. The tooh brushes were in a clear cup, or… not really a cup, but a jar. A glass jar with light highlights and dark underlines. I grabbed my hard plastic tooth brush that was very vibrant. I put some tooth paste on it, the tube was almost all used up. The flavor was plain mint, and had a small amount of the little tooth paste that there was on the tube. Therefore the tube is very sticky. I put carefully the white paste on my tooth brush and I also drank a little water from the gallon, washed it around my mouth. I then put softly my tooth brush in my mouth. I started to brush in small circles around every square milimeter of teeth in my mouth. The bristles kind of poked my gums when I brushed inside my mouth. The bristles of the tooth brush were white with light blue and they curled back which meant that I use it a sizeable amount of time. The mint was a little… well not spicy, it just had a little kick to it. I took the tooth brush carefully out of my mouth and a little string of a mix of saliva, mint tooth paste, and water came out. My mouth was full with liquids. I swooshed them around in my mouth and put my dirty tooth brush in the cup. I spit out into the red cup and then drank a little more from that gallon of water. I shook the water around in my small mouth and then I took a huge gulp and I swallowed all of it. Then my brother came into the room. He looked groggy. He had lines under his eyes and he he looked like he barely could make his eyes go apart more than a few centimeters. he looked like he could just go back to sleep in an instant. His hair was poking out in all directions and his mouth looked as if his two lips were glued together. Then he took his full hand and pointed out his fingers as much as possible. He then wiped the left side of his face with just his fingertips and yawned very loudly. He did the same process as me with the brushing of his teeth in the exact order. As he had a mouthful of toothpaste, I said, “You're up late, it is already...,” I looked at my watch and then confirmed the time, “...6:42.”

“Yeah, so?” he said unclearly due to the toothbrush in his mouth.“I don’t know, I just may be assumed you had to leave soon.”“Well, you will be happy to know that I don’t need to go any time soon.”“Then why do you get up so early in the morning?” I asked with my head tilted to the side like a confused dog.“Because I like to just have the joy of not having to take anything from you or mom. Not having to answer your

questions or just deal with the pain of looking at mom.” He said and then he grabbed his backpack and went. He stomped as he picked up his bag and he looked at me seriously as he picked up his bag. He slammed the door loudly, but mom still just was laying in the bed. Laying in bed like a sleeping beauty. I guess I was on my own. I knew what time my school started, 8:30. It takes about 15 minutes if I really hurry, so I figure I should leave at 8:10. The time is currently 6:54. What the hell am I going to do with the damn time?

Chapter III: Julian’s Perspective The sky was gray with the sad clouds hovering above me. The clouds were like upside little hills that had little lumps. The clouds had very light highlights and dark black underlines. The sky looked like it was in a movie of the 1950’s. Black and white with only common sense to determine the actual colors of the picture. It was slightly raining as well, a little more than a sprinkle but less than a full on rain. The rain was cold, as it hit against my bare skin it felt like ice. The air was thick. I could see the air as I breathed. The air was moist and I barely could see 20 feet in front of me. The ground was wet. Water covered the beaten up concrete and the trash that covered this city. The colors on the concrete hard ground got darker as minutes pass by and more rain fell. My shoes got soaked in water. The fabric was thin and the water seeped through into my dirty sock. It felt moist then, wet, like somebody had put my sock in water then forced me to put it on. I could hear the rain hit against windows. It made a very solid sound that I could easily hear and did not stop. I went into a small, dark alley way. The buildings were made out of

red brick. There was three trash cans, one knocked down and was dark green. Trash of all sorts, food, plastic, whatever you could think of was in there, all spilling out of it. Making the street dirtier than it already is. Did not know that was possible, well… as they always say, “...the more you know.” The dark green one had scratches on it in which you could see the silver under it. Then there was a big one whose top was at a slanted angle that pointed down, the color was solid black. There was trash all around the trash can and nobody to pick it up. Nobody nice enough, nobody who cares about this part of the city. It is the capital of America, you would think it would be nicer. The third trash can was also black, it had a dirty pieces of paper and plastic that were hanging out of it. On the brick walls there spots of it that were a much different colors. The bricks are dirty and some individual bricks were different than the other bricks. Some were more of a tan color some were like a dar red, which was most of them. There were a lot of metal poles going up as well. These metal poles were rusted heavily and they had little knicks as well. There was also graffiti on the walls that was in white. There was also a fire escape that was black and as well, it was rusted. The individual poles were bent on the fire escape. The ground was cracked, it had a huge crack down the middle of the block. It had rain hit up against it and against the walls there was rain sliding down. Up from the roof tops there was rain coming down harder. It made a big sound when the rain fell from there. it came down and hit the ground near the building. There were also some windows, 5 to be exact. Two windows were cracked and they seemed like they were going to break very soon. They both had one crack right down the middle. Another window was completely broken apart. The glass was not even there. The last two were completely in tact, not broken and not shattered. A rare sight in this part of Washington DC. At the end of the alley way there was two there was two electricity poles that were made out ofr wood. The wooden part had staples all over it that were rusted. I saw a little place where I could go ad not get wet. A part where the top of the building stuck out, but not near the base. I went in that small little area quickly so as not having to bare the rain longer. I took quiuck steps, not like running, but just a little faster then speed walking. My heart rate rose when I did that. But when I got into the opening my heart was beating quickly and my shoes were soaking.

Then I took out a long cigarette, just out of my pocket and some matches with rede tips. The box of matches had leaves of a light green plant on it, trying to make it seem like the matches are environmentally friendly. I opened the box of matches, inside the box there was weak thin cardboard. It was about as strong as two or three piecdes of paper, but thinner than what that would be. There was only two matches left over, so I whispered to myself, “Better make these count.” So then I took out one match, the wooden was weak and flimsy. The wood was on the much lighter side of brown. The top was red, not really on the dark or light side of red, just a very simple, plain red. I held the match out as far as I could with out the top of it touching the rain. Then I held it closer to me and put the head of the match to the match box striker. Which were little hexagons of dark red. In between each of the little hexagons was the very light white of the match box. Then in one very quick and swift motion I struck the match. The top of the match got lighter red, like more of a dark pink as I struck it, and there was also sparks that flew back into the cold air like a slow runner at the begginning of a race who could not keep up. The match lit up brightly before going out in a quick second. Half of the match was black as the night at 12 o’clock, but the other side was red as a strawberry. I considered this other side, like another chance. And dad always said something to me, it was, “Rich or poor, powerful or wealthy, when confronted when another chance, take it.” I guess mom has not been able to yet, or so dumb she did not take it. I repeated the proccess with the match once again. Put it against the striker, then in one very quick and swift motion I struck the match. Then the top of the match got lighter red, like more of a dark pink as I struck it, and there was also sparks that flew back into the cold air like a slow runner at the begginning of a race who could not keep up. Most importantly, once again, the match burnt out in a quick second. Then the whole red part was burnt and black. Part of the wood was black too, not as much as the red part, but still. I held out the burnt match end to end with two fingers. The once burnt head of the match did not burn, if anything, it was quite cold. Then with my middle finger, I put it so it lay gently on my thumb. Then I hit the match with my middle finger, I flumg it as far as I could, which was about two feet. Two feet was enough to get the small match in the cold rain. The match it the floor softly considering it was such a small and wieghtless object. Despite this the match made a sound. It was quiet and it sounded like sombody hitting against a piace of wood as soft as somebody possibly could. Then I looked at the cold match box, I opened it very slowly and carefully, and I saw the one stand alone match, all by it self. I took it out carefully but had a good grip on it so as not to drop it on the floor. I held it to my lips and whipered softly to the match, “Don’t let me down.” Once again, I put it against the striker, then in one very quick and swift motion I struck the match. Then the top of the match got lighter red, like more of a dark pink as I struck it, and there was also sparks that flew back into the cold air like a slow runner at the begginning of a race who could not keep up. But this time the match lit. I held it to the side, and the flame was going straight up. To the bottom of the flame, it is was blue, and where it is hottest. The match head is blck as it was burning, but it also had some pink spots in ther as well. The wood got a little burnt as well. The transition from the burning wood and the not burning wood was a redish color. At the bottom of the flame was blue, then on all around that blue and over the top, it was a dark yellow. Then in the middle was a really bright white but as well with a little bit of yellow. Then there was a gust of wind that blew the match slightly. The flame moved in it’s middle and looked like it was going to fall off. But in a few seconds, it regained it’s natural state. That is when I finally decided to light the cigarette. So I got the cigarette out from between my fingers. I looked at the cigarette. It was white and a perfectly rounded cylinder. The end was orange and the other end was a brownish color, but a much darker brown. I put the match to the cigarette and then put the cigarette gently in my mouth. I shook the match back and forth quickly to blow out the flame. As I was shaking the match, the fire looked as if it was dancing. Then the flame finally was out. So I threw it out to the rain.

The smoke came up from my cigarette as it was in my mouth. The smoke started very thin and in the middle, the smoke was dark gray. On the outside the smoke was lighter. The smoke twisted and turned arond. Then when it got at it’s peak hieght, it vanished. The smoke was more seeable when it was closer to the cigarette. But then as the smoke went farther up, the smoke seemed like it could vanish at any second. The smoke seemed to be all connected when it was going around and around. Most

people say things like, “Smoking cigarettes was one of the worst if not the worst habit I ever had I am finally free from smoking.” and that it is really bad. Which granted, is true but just for myself, I don’t care. I know that I am going to turn out screwed up. I don’t think now there will be any harm that has not already happened to me by smoking. I don’t see a problem with contributing to the cause now. For me it is not an obsession. I just do it now and then. I know I‘m much too young and probably stupid for doing it. But I know I am stupid, so I don’t carte if anyone finds out. My brother does not know. I don’t know if he would care or not, and I would not care either. What information could he hold against me and me caring. As I was there I also thought about dad. I really am hating him more as the days go by. My brother likes him, my mother loves him, and I had that affection for him long ago. But now, I think he is just as bad as mom, if not, worse. He knew she was unfit to parent, despite that, he just left. He knew we loved him, but he left. He knew that she was not qualified for any jobs, but he left anyway. I wonder why he left. I wonder if he was thinking about us when he left, I wonder if he cared.

I am not going to school. I don’t want to. But like a good mother, my mom should stop me. Too bad she is not a good mother. she is so proccessed in her own bereavement that she can not do anything for her own children. She should pay attention to her younger one, not me, god knows I’m screwed. But my little brother has got a chance in life. A chance to do something, do something good, better than what I can do. He should go away from me, I just put dents in his life. He is really smart, I mean, he was reading, “The Stranger” a few days back. It is written by a French phsylosipher. A few days ago he was reading, “100 Years of Solutude.” He picks up a book, he reads it. He just picks them up off the street because mother is so not involved with him that she does not even buy her own son a book. He deserves one, after all, he’s lived with me and mother for all these painful years. He is a talented young boy, he deserves everything that a gifted boy could possibly have. He just has a lack of empathy, specifically towards his older brother. I do not think he cares much about empathy. I bet he thinks that he is in the worst situation possible. I bet he thinks that he has to deal with me, which granted he does. But I am the one who took care of him for all these years. Mom did not do crap about it. I feel empathy about her as well. She is a mother who’s jerk husband left unexpectedly leaving her, an unfit parent with two children who hate her guts more than anyone in the world. Then there is the worst, dad. I don’t think I respect him enough anymore to call him dad. I will call him Gill. Gill left, for god knows what reason, leaving his two children with somebody that they hate. I hate his guts.

I then started to walk home. Walked through the rainy streets, with my socks getting soaked with water. I saw a plastic bag carried by the dirty water. The bag was white and the water brown. The bag was small and got more dirt on it as it kept on going down the stream of filth. Then I looked behind me and I saw a wave of plasticup in the air. Blowing all behind me. There was plastic, paper, and other trash in one huge gust of extreme wind. There was trees with actual leaves as the huge wind went by. A cold wind was blowing from the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things. The trees’ leaves were dancing in the wind. Dancing and moving side to side. It made the tree look lively, exciting. The leaves were blowing off one by one in the wind. The few leaves that blew off were mixed in with the huge heap of trash that blew past me. There only remained about 100 more leaves. And by the fault of the huge wind, about 50 leaves fell off. I noticed one specific leaf that blew off. It seemed to be constintly hit with soft rain drops that changed the direction in which the leaf was going. The leaf blew past my face. Grazing my soft cheek. The leaf was scratchy but wet at the same time. I looked above me and I saw many leaves and trash up there blowing with the intensness of the wind. The trash was wet. Then I felt something on my ankles. Something sort of tickling it. I looked down and I saw leaves. The leaves were dried out. Dead. They were not hard though. They were quite easy to tear a part. There were also wet pices of paper too. They were wet and heavy, so my guess is that the wind could not support the heavier paper as well. I looked in front of me. I saw all the trash and leaves going forward. Like it was some march to actually get somewhere. I could not really see in front of me. All I could see is the trash going forward. The black trash bags, the white paper all going somewhere. Moving forward. Like my brother. He is constently going forward. Doing new things, learning. Enjoying his time in this awful city. Moving forward despite that there is rain coming down. Despite there being obstacles in his life that he confronts on a daily basis. Day after day. Week after week. Year after year. And eventually, Decade after decade, but despite the interferences, this young heart moves on through the trash and rain. Then I looked behind me. I saw Edgar’s past. I remember my dad showing me how to change a diaper for my little baby brother. His face was cute as a baby. He was quite pale for child of black descent. he had a cute little small nose that had tiny pimples on it. The small pimples were red and rough but cute as heck. He had two folds in his skin just below the eyes. His eyes were blue. They did not stay that way, they eventually turned brown. On his eye lid he had a stork bite that was vaguely red and got darker as he cried. He smiled a lot. It is wierd to see a smile with no teeth though. I could see his naked little gums when he smiled. As he smiled his chin got a little strange. It hot small and really poked out. his cheeks got big. They poked out got soft. He had slightly blond hair at the top of his head. On the top of his head his hair was thin. Towards the back of his head his hair got thicker. His hair also turned more brown. His ears were normal. They were like a normal adults ear but somebody shrunk them down a lot. i remember that when he was really young, he could not support his head up. So every time I held him, I had to be very careful to support his head. I remember I was holding him once and dad gave me very specific directions on how how to hold him. He said, “Be careful to support the head. Hold with two hands. Don’t play around with him, keep him a sleep…” I did not really listen. I just wanted to hold him. So I stood there standing and looking at the small child and his small eyes. My little brother, man, he was cute. I guess he was cute because he was really small. Not particularly because his features were that cute, as I grew up and him as well I figured out that he gets cuter around the age of two. But since he was small, I thought he was the sweetest little thing to ever be on this planet. Then my father said something that really grabbed onto my attention, “Are you listening?” he said in a voice that he really meant, “He can not be possibley be listening.”

But then I said sort of hesitently, “Y-yes.” My heart raced and then I sort of scratched my head and looked at him. Then I said, “Totally.”

“You were not listening, were you?” He said very sternly.

“No.”“Okay, then I will start my list once again. Be careful to support the head. Hold with two hands. Don’t play around with

him, keep him a sleep, Sit down, if you can, remember, he has a heavy head and weak neck muscles, As the baby is handed to you, make sure that one of your hands is supporting his body and the other is under the back of his head. If you're picking your baby up, slide your hands under her head and her rear and lift her whole body at once. A gentle rocking motion of a few inches side-to-side or up and down will often comfort a baby that starts whimpering. Change her position carefully, maintaining support of her head and neck while protecting the soft spots on her head. When you hand her back, go slowly and get close to the person you are handing her to. It is even better if this person is sitting down. Love him okay.” He said.

“Okay,” I said excitedly. He gave him to me very carefully and I positioned his head on my left elbow. My left hand held his small little butt.

Then my dad told me with a big bright smile, “sSit down.” So I went to the couch very slowly so as not to trip. I sat down very carefully so I do not drop or somehow hurt him. As I sat down my butt sunk deep into the couch while I just looked at him with soft eyes. I looked into my tiny little brothers small eyes that were sealed shut. I grabbed his small hand with mine and looked at his small fingers. His fingernails were also small, there was no white part that went off his finger. He had an intersting outfit. He had a white and blue striped onsie and red pants. His feet did not have any socks on them. His feet were chubby. They were soft on the top but a little bit scratchy on the bottom. He had a little bandade around his thumb from dad clipping his nail. But the bandade was much too big so it wrapped around his finger multiple times before the bandade connected. His neck had many, many, many roles in it, his neck kind of looked like clouds, like they overlapped each other multiple times over. That is a lot of his small childhood. But then I looked ahead in the wind and the bags going forward, and I wondered. I wondered of what he would turn into. Something special I believe. A doctor or something. Doing something for the greater good of people in Washington DC. But he would probably turn out better if he just left this terrible place. I will be quite honest, I might be very dissapointed in him if he does not move out. Or if he does not become something great I will be dissapointed in him. Because he has the the intellegence to be a great man. So why not be one. He should go to a college. Go to one of those ivy league schools. Like Yale or Harvard. He is smart enough. He can do anything if he sets his mind to it.

I saw a bag fly towards me. A plastic bag that flew right into my face. I grabbed it off carefully and slowly off my head. Then I looked at the plastic bag, long and hard. I put my head to it and then, “Do something great.” Then I let the bag go. It flew up and far away. I moved fast, he was moving forward quickly. Then I looked behind me once again and I saw a man. I could not see his actual features though. I could only see the man’s limbs. He just looked like a black figure from where I was standing.

Chapter VI saw this boy. He was standing the middle of where trash was flying. I don’t see why he is doing it. Seems like an

idiot. I mean anyone who does that must be an idiot or crazy. But this kid seems familiar. I don’t know how, I don’t know why but this kid seems… well I don’t really know. It just seems like I know him somehow. Just a feeling though. I am probably just imajining it. Maybe my mind is slipping from my grasp. But I feel like I know him. I mean, I knew some people here and one of them would be around that hieght. I went, so I really have no idea if it is the person who I’m thinking of. But I have time, mine as well go and see. So I walked over to him through the wet rain and the disgusting trash. My socks started to get wet from the rain. The rain was coming down hard. About 30 minutes ago it was not raining as much. Each step I took, I splashed water up. My shoes made a heavy noise every step I took forward. I looked at my watch. But rain kept on pouring on it. I could not tell the time over the drops of rain, covering my watch. My nice coa as well got rain poured on it. It had felt like some of the rain had seeped through into my shirt. My shoulders got cold and I started to shiver. But I wanted to see who this kid was. The rain got harder. It got to the point where I wwas drenched in in water. My hat sort of protected me from any water getting on my head but not my shoulders.

Chapter VI: Julians PerspectiveWhat is going on? This guy is walking towards me now. I had no clue what the heck was going on. I was confused and

shaking. This man had a black trench coat on with a black hat. The trench coat went down to his knees. The pockets were large and went diagnally down. I could not see his face, but I could see the bottom of his pants. They were gray. Why the hell was this person following me. I have no idea why, or who this guy as. He was tall kind of scary. We were like the only people out on the streets, and he was on my trail for about 10 minutes. I started to get really scared, my heart started to pump. Thump, thump, thump. I was scared out of my mind. Rain was falling, this guy was following me, what the heck should I do. I started to walk faster and faster. But everytime I walked faster, he would adjust to my pace. I walked a little faster and he would walk a little faster as well. I was never in this type of situation before. I had no idea of what to do. So I just started to run as fast as I could, not looking back, not caring about the intense rain. I ran as hard as I could. My steps were large, my breathing was heavy. My feet started to hurt and it felt like my body was getting heavier from the rain. Then I suddenly felt my upper body lean forward. Then I tripped down. I fell right down my elbow. The water splashed up in my eyes. My eyes burnt. It was excrutiating to my eyes. I covered my eyes with my arm but it just put more of the water in my eyes. My clothes got soaking and I had a huge scratch on my cheek. It bled out onto the dirty streets. I looked back, nobody was behind me that I could see. I was relieved but I hurt all over my body. I got up slowly and carefully as my muscles cracked. I stood up tall and I looked behind me. I saw nobody. I sat down on the stoop of the street. The stoop was wet and rain still fell down hard on me. Who the heck was this guy.

Chapter VIIHe ran. Ran away from me. He is too far now. I bet he thinks that I am really creepy now. Whatever, I know who he is.

And I know exactly where to go to find him. I will just go there. I will find him, and I don’t know, like… I guess I just want to connect with him. I really hope he will be understanding. I want him to have better feelings about me. I just want him to like me. That would definately make my day.

6 Chapter I: Teacher’s Perspective Okay, okay, okay, first period. The first period of the seven periods. It can’t be two bad. It will be okay. It is my 8th

graders. They are pretty calm. I mean, the’ve been quite agressive at times, but they are a bright group of kids all and all. They are a good class, I mean, not my best class. I should not give up on them, even if they were a bad group. They all have great potential. All of them, every single one. They all have good minds. They can learn the lesson that I am going to teach. Oh shut up, I should shut up. They can’t learn the lesson that I am going to teach. There is nothing that I teach thqt they actually take in. They are violent, they are really under educated. They do not have the proper supplies to learn either. They are doomed to lives of violence. I can’t help them. I would if I thought that I could actually help them. I mean just a few days ago, people were punching each other, they were bleeding onto the floor. There have been multiple occurances where people have bled, broken bones, and people fighting. The bell will ring soon. The bell that will let all the children in. Then to my great discomfort, “Riiiiinnnngggg.” The children start to flow unsteadly into the room like water into a cup. Some kids tripped, fell. All these kids pushing each other, they were falling down like flies. Only a select few got into the room successfully. When Everybody got in, they started to talk. Some were yelling, some were talking loudly. But nobody was not talking. Everybody was talking loudly, and altogether there it was louder than a parade. Nobody was sitting down, nobody was behaved. So I think I just… well, my fuse blew. So I said, “Everybody, if you guys do not shut your mouths in 5 seconds, you will all have to go to detention for one hour!” The class was completely silent, “5… 4… 3… 2… 1…” the class was completely silent, there was no noise whatsoever. “Good, now we can begin.”

“Shut up, Mr. S!” One of the students shouted out to me. Then there was an uproaring laughter. The noise filled the room with sound. Kids pointed at me witj there fingers, and laughed out of their heads. Then they started to talk loudly to each other once again. Some people stood on the tables just telling jokes, while I, well… I was nodding my head in shame. I sat down and I put my elbow on the table. I then opened my hand and put my forehead there. I just sat there for a minute, just dissapointed in my dumb students that only care if they get to talk unnecissarily loudly to each other. They don’t care if their teacher is on the verge of a psychodic break. They do not care if they annoy anybody, everything is centered around if they get to talk to each other.

I started to get mad. I wanted to scream, so I guess I just got mad, so I said, “Would you guys care at all about me for once!” I said putting my hands to my chest, “I want to teach, it is what I do. So you guys…” I said pointing to them, “have to learn. Or guess what, I get fired! So make it a little easier on me, please. Thank you. Now I would like to teach.”

“Too bad, we don’t want to learn,” somebody shouted from inside the classroom. They laughed once again. I got really mad now.

“Stop! Will you stupid kids just stop! Stop laughing! Stop talking! Just take my shoes and walk around in them a little bit! I am a teacher who has a bad salary, much under an average teacher, and I have to deal with you guys. You guys are obnoxious, stupid, and you can’t learn! You kisds are becoming the bane of my exsistance! I want to help you, but you refuse to be helped! I try to teach you, but you guys won’t learn! What would you guys do if you were me? I want to know! I need to know!”

They were silent. Then they somebody said, “Why should we know!”Then I had a look of relief and I said, “If you don’t know, do what I want you to, learn. Thank you.” So then I got the

sheet for roll call, see who is here, who is not. Okay lets get started.” I said. I held out the long piece of paper with all the names of the people in the class. I started to call the names of the class, “Julian.” no answer. “Ava.”

“Here.” she said.“Carson.”“Here.” Carson said.Then I said, “This is too slow, you guys wasted too much time at the beginning of class, so I’ll just do it in my head. I

the meantime, I want you to think about, the question, “What is an informative essay?” Okay?” As they got out their notebooks to answer that question, I looked at the kids, and I saw the people who were here or not. As I looked around the class, I saw that quite a few people were not in the class. About 10 people out of the 24 people in the class. There were usually a lot of kids absent. The kids don’t care about their education enough to go to school. The don’t want to learn. They do not care if they do not earn valuable things in math, english language arts, social studies, or any of the subjects really. They do not care if they fall behind or when in later life, if they do not go to good jobs. Or maybe it is not that they don’t care, it is that they don’t think about it often enough, let alone, if they think about it at all. As Iooked around the room, I saw the kid’s faces and how they were mad. I guess mad at me for yelling, and mad at me more for making them answer the question. That is what the kids will hopefully learn today, but they probably will not embrace it. They did not look happy at all about what I made them do. Their faces looked furious, they were red, and a lot of them just had a very passive agressive look on their face. Thus is what happens when they have to do work. That is what they expect from school, to do nothing all day. And this is at the end of the school year as well. Then I said in a loud voice to them, “Okay, would anybody like to answer the question?”

There was not a single hand in the room that was raised. Not a single one. So I walked around the room to see if people acually did it. Nobodies paper had any meaningful, thoughtful, none the less good writing on it. A lot of kids had nothing, a lot of the kids also had a few random words. Dissapointed, I walked to the front of the room. I said with a loud voice, “As I walked around the room, nobody had really good answers. I did not even want the right answer, because we have not learned it yet. I wanted an answer that had your guess, aned then a sentence or two that backed that guess up. Not a single one of you did that, not a single one. Look guys, I know that you guess are not the best educated. But I have a hunch that a lot of people in this room are talented. So we are going to try again tommorrow. Now, you guys can talk to each other in a quiet manner for a little bit.”

I told them to talk so I could look at my lesson plans for the day, one last time. As I said that they could talk, there was a huge uproar of noise in the room. As I looked at my lesson plan, I was not really embracing the information it brought to me. I more thought about what I said, “I know that you guess are not the best educated. But I have a hunch that a lot of people in this room are talented.” I don’t know if I relly thought that that was true. I mean, I definately used to believe it, but now that thought has been disproven on multiple occasions. Day after day, week after week, they have not a single time shown to me that they are bright kids. Never, not a sngle time in the school year they have proven that they are smart. Maybe it is different in their other classes, but in this class, every time their is an assignment it is a chance to do nothing for them. They never put any thought into assignments, never. I think if they just truley embraced the informatiojn that I gave them they could actually do something special. But as long as they keep on the track they are going, they aren’t going to get anywhere. They are just going to go nowhere with their lives. Just stay in the positions that they are in. I can’t believe I gave up on these kids. They deserve better, they deserve a chance. I do believe that they are not going on a good track, but how should I know how to stop them. They don’t listen to either.

“Okay, chat time is over, now we will learn what an informative essay is. But first, does anybody have a guess.” I said in a strong and loud teacher voice that silenced the children.

“I have a guess,” a student named Carson said.“Okay, take a whack at it then.” I said back to the student.“I think it is an essay that informs you,” he said with a big smile. Then everybody laughed, it was a huge amount of

noise. One student can throw the whole class off like this.“SILENCE!” I yelled in my loudest possible voice. My face was red and I was furious. My eyes opened wide. You

could clearly see the viens in my neck, “Carson., detention! No more of these random shout outs disturbing the class, I am done. I can’t take it anymore! I have a brand new rule! If somebody speaks out of turn, detention! Anybody who speaks or makes a sound after the shout out, will also be in detention!” I had never screamed at the kids that loudly, any of my students. I felt bad, but I guess the dynomite will blow eventually. It’s all a matter of when and if it is for a good cause. I tell myself that getting mad helps the kids, but it does not held the children acedemically. I guess it is more of a thing for myself. I mean, I don’t want to be cut off from talking. Nobody does. But yelling does not help. Jesus I am turning into one of their parents. Yelling at them as loud asa possible. Just doing that whenever I’m agitated. Now they think of me as like their parents, they feel tortured. Jesus Christ almighty, I have become what I truely hate.

Then I took a long drawn out sigh. The kids were looking at me with scared little faces, and the room stood in silence. Nobody spoke a word. I had never made a scene like this in the classroom. I was known as the calm teacher. Everybody now hates me in the class, and now they definatly won’t learn from me. They hate me. What do I do now with these kids. I don’t think I have the patience to teach and they don’t have the patience to learn. But after all, it is my job, and really have nothing to lose anymore. “The purpose of an informative essay, sometimes called an expository essay, is to educate on a certain topic. It is not for giving an opinion or convincing someone to do something or change his beliefs.” I said in a somewhat quiet tone of voice. “Do you guys understand that?”

The class was silent. So silent you could here the rain drops hitting on the windows, “Titter, tatter, titter, tatter.” The faces around the room looked kind of mad. Mad at me of course, specifically Carson’s. Then I cleared my throat loudly and said, “Do you guys understand that?” I said it much louder this time, to emphasize the point in that I was waiting for an answer.

Then the half of the class that did talk said, “No,” in a very solid tone of voice. “Okay. That’s fine, but does anyone in the room have a guess?” The class was once again silent. Noone raised their

hand, nobody even shouted out a dumb answer. “Okay, I will tell you guys. What that definition is saying is that it is just to educate and let people learn about a specifis topic by facts. And does anybody know what convince means?” The class did not say a word. Not a hand raised not anything. This got me really frustrated. I just wanted to punish them all if I could. I mean, it was like I was in the room by myself and just talking. Like I was teaching myself. “Anybody?” I asked trying to sound polite after being mean. “Come on guys, someone has to answer. I don’t care if it is right.” But again nobody raised a hand. “Fine, convince means to cause (someone) to believe firmly in the truth of something. Or to make somebody believe in something. An example sentence of that would be, "Robert's expression had obviously convinced her of his innocence.” Does anybody else want to try it in a sentence?” No answer. Of course, nobody wants to answer. “But anyways, in an informative, or also called an expository essay, you do not want to convince anybody. You just want to display out information. Okay.” I took my hand out and I put them over my eyes. I laid my head against my cold hands. Then I clenched my fist slammed it against the chalk board. I don’t know why. It is a dumb idea. But I felt frustrated enough to hit my hand against the board. It hurt, it hurt like hell. I hit my hand on the side. My pinkie felt crushed and my hand was red. Thje sound that the board maked was low. It looked like the board had bent. After I had hit the board, it kept on shaking afterwards. The class was shocked. They had there mouths open and looked horrified. Then I spoke in a serious voice that was mixed with sadness, “Am I talking to myself? What am I doing here? I mean you guys hate me now! I make a mistake and now none of you can talk to me, not a single one of you! You yell at me, you get mad at me! But I keep on teaching! So why don’t you guess want to learn, I mean, come on! This is really hurting me, none of you will talk anymore! I made a mistake! I made a mistake, I mean so what? You guys get mad! Everybody makes mistakes as well! But look what happens when I do it! Nobody is going to talk to me! Look what happens when I make a damn mistake!” I then sat in my chair and my bottom sunk down. I laid my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. I started to cry a little. I wept at the teacher’s desk. The kids mostly had their faces burried in their arms. So I did that as well. The tears went down on the table. The tears then expanded to make contact with my coat. The tears were cold. Those were the most serious words I have ever spoken. “Am I talking to myself? What am I doing here? I mean you guys hate me now! I make a mistake and now none of you can talk to me, not a single one of you! You yell at me, you get mad at me! But I keep on teaching! So why don’t you guess want

to learn, I mean, come on! This is really hurting me, none of you will talk anymore! I made a mistake! I made a mistake, I mean so what? You guys get mad! Everybody makes mistakes as well! But look what happens when I do it! Nobody is going to talk to me! Look what happens when I make a damn mistake!” I was dead serious when I said that, more than I ever have been in my life. I was proud. Proud that I could finally just say that to the kids. Sad because the people who I spend an hour for five days a week, totally hate me. I wanted to say the same words to them again. To really get the point out there. I can’t do this with all my classes in this day, though, too emotionally draining. I will probably get fired after this class anyway. A student came up to me then. It was a she, her name was Anya. She’s nice. She has a good heart. She has brown eyes. Her skin is dark. Her hair is black and is curly. Her nose does not go out of her face much and it kind of sticks up a little as well. Her forehead is average size, I guess. Her mouth is small. She usually had a big smile on her face, but not right now. She had big cheeks that looked soft. You could see a dark shadow on where her chin would go up to. She always had a nice posture. Her family is poor. She would be a really nice, smart person if her family actually had money. She just stood above me, hovering overm me. Which on a normal day I would not be fine with. But seeing as this is not a regular school day, I was fine with it. Usually this would really agitate me, make me uncomfortable and I would get a little mad. But on this day, I did not care much at all. It actually did not make me mad or agitate me. It made me calmer. It made me feel like someone was on my side. She then got out a piece of paper and put it on my desk.

Then she said in a soft and kind voice, “It is a card.” I looked at the front of the card, it said nothing. Then she said, “Look inside.” I looked inside and there was nicely written cursive in it. It said:

Dear Mr. SThanks Mr. S. I know sometimes I can seem like I am not working, or not learning. I am greatly sorry for that. Many

times I have not done my woirk or embraced the knowlege that is being taught to us to my full potential. I sometimes don’t cooperate in the classroom. I am sorry for that. I should pay more effort and time into school. Hopefully I can improve on all those fronts. Hopefully all of the class can, but I can start. I am sorry that this class for all this time have been getting on your nerves. Sorry.

Sincerely,Anya Norris

“Thanks,” I said to Anya. She smiled brightly. “Means a lot to me.” I then got up slowly. Looking at the class with my tired eyes. As I stood up my muscles cracked and I rolled my shoulders back. I stood up straight. I put my card up and stood it on my desk. I then put my hand on Anya’s shopulder and smiled. Then I said to her in a kind voice, “Sit down.” I walked to the front of the room in large steps that hit on the ground hard. Each time I took a step there was the sound, “Thump,” that echoed through the room. As I walked over, my head was pointed down to the floor. Then I did a quater turn to face towards the class as I lifted my head up. I found myself standing once again at the front of the room, looking at the dead silent students.

“Okay, I am going to say this, and I will not repeat what I am about to say one more time. If I have too, I will not be pleased. And considering that I have much more power over you I could harm you, more than if the coin was flipped around. So here it is. We have wasted twenty minutes of our class, leaving us with little time. So you will learn what I have to offer you with no frowns, no shout outs, and you will be participating. To maximize participation, I will pick sticks. No more time will be wasted.” I went over to the sticks. They are light brown and on my table. They are held by a vibrant red cup that is plastic. I grbbed them with my cold hands and put them down on the floor. I went over to one of the many empty seats in the classroom. I grabbed that aned put it in the middle of the room, next to the sticks. I grabbed the sticks, and I put them up on the chair. I then looked at the class with a big smile and my head tilted. Then I said, “Liam!”

“Yes, he said with a face that was truly confused. “What is an informative essay?” I said as my eyebrows went upo and I had my back straight with a kind face.“An informative essay, is like… an essay… that…” He said seeming apparently lost for words. “Okay, that is okay, I will just call on someone else right now.” I said in a forgiving voice. “Would someone else want

to share the answer with the class, who is sure that they know precisley the definition?” Anya raised her hand high. She had a big smiler on her face and I then smiled back at her. “Anya, do you know the answer?”

“Yeah,” she said excitedly. “It is an essay meant to say the fact about an object or objects. But it is not to convince or persuade people into doing or buying something.” She said proud of herself.

“Great!” I said impressed, and with a delighted smile that she could explain it that well. “That is exactly what it is. Thank you, Anya.” Then I looked at Liam. “Liam, can you very kindly, repeat what Anya just said?”

“Yes,” he said, and then he sighed and closed his eyes like he was trying to remember what she just said. “It is an essay meant to say the fact about an object or objects. But it is not to convince or persuade people into doing or buying something.” He said quickly.

“Exactly. Now it seems we have learned what it is with a clear understanding. Now does anyone have any questions, if you do, ask now, because I will not be going back to this later in the lesson.” No hands were raised n one at all. I looked around the room, but no hands went up. I knew that most of them could not tell me what it is if I asked them right now. “If there is somebody, ask now. Do not be shy. I will not care. But I will care if later someone, asked me later what it is.” I said. I want somebody just to ask the question, I know someone does not understand in the room. “Okay it seems everybody is apparently on topic then, so I can ask whoever I want, just to check understanding. So I will ask someone in the room. I took one of the cold sticks with my hand. I pulled it up quickly. It said Joseline, but she seems fine, she has a good understanding of a lot of things in the class. She just does not apply herself as much as she should and she could. So I called on Ethan instead. I said with a loud lowish voice, “Ethan, could you be so kind as to writing on a piece of paper the definition. In your own words if you could. I did this purposley. He never listened to anythjing that was said in the class. He rebeled quite often and he is not bright at all. “The

requirements are just, the purpose or meaning of writing an informative essay is, and also, what it is not supposed to do. I will give you a piece of nice plain paper, and I will give you 30 seconds to write.” I got a piece of paper and then I put it on his desk.

“Why do I have to do it?” He asked in a voice that seemed none to pleased.“Because I picked a stick, and guess who’s name popped up?” I said. “I am sure you have a pencil. So when you start, I

will start to count in my head. “This is BS. I should not have to do this.” he said mad vand furious at me.“No, this is English Language Arts, and you should have to do this, your time starts now.” I said smiling and pleased

with myself. 1 mississippi… 2 mississippi… 3 mississippi… 4 mississippi. I counted to myself as he put his pencil tip0 to the white paper and wrote slowly. Then he tossed his pencil back behind him.

“Don’t throw your pencil, someone could get injured.” I said in a stern voice to Ethan, “Are you done?” I asked. “Wow, very quick, only took you 15 seconds. Are you sure you don’t want use those 15 seconds you have left?”

“No, I don’t need it. I don’t need this stupid class at all.” he said madly.“If you did not have this class, you would be stupider than you already are. And honestly, that would really pain me to

see that. I would be pained, I think I would cry.” My god, I wish I could take back that, I must be stupid. I guess he insulted my class so I insulted him as just some sort of reflex. It is childish, but it is what happened. I went up to his desk very slowly with my hands behind my back and a serious face on. I grabbed thye paper off his desk while I looked at his serious face.

Then he tugged on my shirt a little. I pulled my hand back as I looked at him. Then he said to me, “Do you think you are a good teacher?” in a mad voice. “Nobody else does,but do you? You obviously think that your better than us, you think you have power over us. But do you think that your a really kind, nice person? Are you teaching for your benifit or ours?” He whispered in a dissapointed voice. I don’t know if he was right. But he seemed very serious, the most he has been in the classroom. Then I turned around like I was pivoting. And then I took a step. Then another one, and one more. Then I stopped, I stopped to look at Ethan from over my shoulder. He had his face down so that IU only could see his black hair. I was at the front of the room. I looked around at the class. A lot were sad, alot were mad. Only Anya was slightly happy. So what he said was true. The students were living proof of it. I don’t make the students happy. They don’t seem to be learning anything. I thought about something else he said, “But do you think that your a really kind, nice person?” I don’t know about this either. They don’t think so, I mean as he said, Nobody else does,but do you?” Nobody else does. I suppose it is true. There are other teachers that the students love. I am not one of them. I guess the reason is pretty obvious. They don’t think I am kind, not nice. They are the people that can really judge accurately. I mean, you can’t ask yourself, of course you’ll say your nice, but you are not thge judge. Then he said something at the end, it was, “Are you teaching for your benifit or ours?” I honestly don’t know which one. I just do it for the money really. So I can eat a half decent meal unlike these kids. As much as might tell myself that I tried or try to help these kids. And I often blame it on the kids, like they can’t learn. It is my fault. I can’t teach. I can’t teach because I can’t. I can’t motivate them. I can’t make them learn. I am not a good teacher. I am selfish and stupid. I have been ignorant of what everybody else thinks of my and I have been using my narcisism as a shield. I was stupid and I disregarded and did not pay attention to anyone else.

I would rather still not come to terms with the unavoidable fact that I am selfish and ultimatley not good to these kids. It would make me feel better about myself. It would make me ingnorant, but that is better than being a jerk. Now I feel terrible. I don’t know if I should shame this young child now with his probably terrible definition. I told myself that I would call on him bacause he probably did not understand the topic. Now I know I am at fault. Why did I have to have that pointed out to me? Why? I would be happier if I just did not know that. I was happy when I did not realize it. But I was tricking myself to think that, I was running away from the truth. The truth that I was the proplem in the kids’ education, not them. I always told myself it was their circumstances, which it is partly due to that, but there is probably more than that as well. I guess George Orwell was right, “Ignorance is Bliss.” I wish I was still ignorant.

But despite this, I read what the young Ethan wrote. So I said with my loud teacher’s voice, “Now pay attention students I will now read Ethan’s definition of an informative essay. So please, out of respect, be quiet and curtious. It says here,

Illusion of Happiness through the Virtue of the UnknowingMr. S, you are stupid. Your just as bad Mr. LeMarque, but at least he knew he was a bad man, he did not run away

from it. He embrassed it, used it to his advantage. You did not notice this before, but now you know. You are most likely sad and mad at yourself because this information is beyond a doubt true. But you run away from this, your scrared of it. Now you will never be dumb again, now you know what I have just told you, I guess it is the Illusion of Happiness through the Virtue of the Unknowing.

I looked at the class. At all the kid’s faces. They nodded to each other. They exchanged looks. He was right. Damn. I guess I am getting fired. They looked at me, with sad eyes, some with eyes that said, “It is true.” Ethan had his feet on the table, with his dirty shoes on. He was obviously impressed with himself. He had his smirk. He had the smile that went across his face. I was a shamed of myself, my selfishness, my stupidness, and my unwilling to see it from the kids’ perspective. I can’t live with myself for this. All of these two years, I was ingnorant, these kids are smarter than me. I had a tantrum, just in thius class, and I was begging for somebody to say that it is okay, when I was the problem. My god, this kid is really smart< all of them really. I could not take it anymore, the pain. This was not the best way to handle my aggresion, but I did it.

I said to Ethan, “Come here, please.” In a fairly mad voice due to the fact of that everybody hates me.“Why?” he said with one eyebrow raised. “Are you going to beat me like our parents wound?” He said with a smile

that lit up his face. His face looked like right now he just wanted to demorolize me until I could not take it anymore. “Your

becoming just as bad as them. I know you hate them. It is like your turning into your enemy. Your no better then them, say it,” he said withy an acusing tone in his voice. “Say it!” he yelled in a mocking tone.

I know it is true. I am like them. I would be lieing if I said the opposite. But I did not let my guard down. So I said, “I did not ask for you to do that, I asked for you to come up to the front, and I am not going to say it again.” I felt childish, I was ar5gueing with the kid. All because I don’t want to say it.

“I will say it again,” Ethan said with a smirk and a loud voice, “And I will not say it again. Are you going to beat me like our parents wound? Your becoming just as bad as them. I know you hate them. It is like your turning into your enemy. Your no better then them, say it. Say it!” he yelled at me with all of his might. “Say it! Say it! Come on! You know it is true! We kids know it is true, so why can’t you say it! You can’t tell me that I don’t have a good point! So say it!” He shoutede with a devilish smirk.

“I do not do what you say! I am trhe teacher! So come up here!” I said yelling as powerfully as I can.“Oops, you said it again!” He said and then laughed like a clown. “COME UP HERE YOU CRETIN! You are such an imbicile, you know nothing!” I yelled. My viens were sticking out

of my neck and I was the maddest I have ever been in a long time. Over something I was wrong about.“You know what is wierd, I had a friend once. He said that his mom said that to him once. And then his mom beat him.

She took out a belt. Thern wham, wham, wham. I see you have a nice belt on today.” He said laughing, “The name’s Julian. Hell, he is in the class, has a little brother named Edgar something like that.” He was still smiling.

“You fing this funny?” I said at him.“Yeah, I do actually. I find it really hilarious that you won’t admit that you like our parents. And you want to beat me

so badly. I know some older people like that. But fine, say I was wrong, which I am not, how could you prove it? That is my burning question. I bet 10 dollars you can’t.”

The class was looking at me, they were waiting for a good answer. But what could I say, I did not have one. “See, you don’t have one. I don’t even want your money, yourt pain is enough. I am going to say what I said before to

you. The time when you took my paper, I remember the shocked face you had on, kinda just proves I am right. I said something like this, do you think you are a good teacher? Nobody else does,but do you? You obviously think that your better than us, you think you have power over us. But do you think that your a really kind, nice person? Are you teaching for your benifit or ours? I remember your shocked face. It was quite funny. But you could not believe I said I said that, could you? Kind of just proves that beyond a doubt that I am right. So do it for your own ske and say it. Say that you a bad teacher and that your just our parents at school. Say it! Say the words, I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school. Say it.!” He stood on the table and then yelled down at me, “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! Say it!” Then again, “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! Come on!” He jump-ed on thye table and repeated it, “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! You know it! You know it, you know it! Stop running away! Say it, I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! I know you know that you think it is true, so say it, for your own sake!”

I was horrified. He was right. I could not say it, I know I could not say it, I know it seems quite childish, but I could not. I knew it in my heart. If I did, the class would go more bonkers than it already is. I just could not. I would also be ashasmed and made a joke of inside the classroom, I do not think I could take it emotionally, even trhrough it is premature. I need to keep my calm, even though someone is yelling at me inside the classroom.

Mor3e students got on the desks. Carson, stepped up from the ground onto his seat to his desk. On his desk he yelled loudly, the samer thing that Ethan yelled. “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school!” Her was much more passionate about that statement though. He meant as much as he could mean it. He yelled it louder, he was not enjoying it either. Ethan loved it. Many others added on, they stepped up from the ground onto his seat to his desk, just as Carson did. They were jumping on the tables, making noise, and the words, “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school!” filled the rooom. My ears started hurt, and there voices just went up as each second passed and as each person addedon to thje majority. The jumped on and all togetherthey said, “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school!I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! Say it! Say it! Say it!”

I really could not take. My ears hurt, I was tired. They were yelling at my terrible teaching emotionally. I could not take it for much longer but I could not over power there voices. Unless I just admitted my fault. Then Anya got up on the table. I was shocked, quite sad about this. She started to yell as yell. Yelling as loud as she could with tyhe rest of the group, screaming, “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school!I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school! Say it! Say it! Say it!”

It felt terrible, denying the truth. So I just admitted my fault and screamed out to the class, “I am a bad teacher and I am just your just our parents at school!” The class was silent. They were satisfied. They got down from the tables quickly and silently as they exchanged looks throughout the classroom.“Are you satisfied, are you happy now! Will you stop torturing me? Will you stop acting chaotic? You won! I gave in, you did it Ethan! You officially made me out of my mind! You did it how do you feel?”

“Great!” he exclaimed out to the classroom in a proud and powerful voice, “I feel great!”“Good for you,” I said in a resentful, mad voice. I was furious at my students, though I do not know why exactly, mI

just was. After all, they were right. I knew it before he had his speech on the paper that I read allowed to the classroom. I knew it. I was happier before. He is right, smart kid, it is the illusion of happiness through the virtue of the unknowing.

7

Chapter I: Julian’s PerspectiveI needed to go home. I just need to go home. Tell mom what happened. She will be understanding if nobody else will. I

need to go home. Tell mom that there is this weird man following me. I will tell her everything. The trash, the smoking, the not going to school. I need to, I see no other way. She will do something, or at least I hope she will do something. She needs to. I am depending on her. But god damn! What am I kidding, she’ll do nothing. She won’t care. She will just take out a belt and start to hit me with all her might. I doubt she will do anything. If she does, the thing she will do is look out the door for one second and see if anyone’s there. If there is not, then she’ll call me bluff. She won’t be understanding. She won’t care. What the hell should I do? Everytime she hears one more thing I did sh will just become closer to hitting me with her hardest punch. I could go to the school. Find one of my teachers. I do not know if they would believe me either. My English teacher gets pretty mad at students if they miss class. I don’t blame him for that either. I don’t know if he would be quite that understanding if I told him my story. He would ask why did I skip school? He would probably get me to the point where I say that I went to smoke. He would not be pleased with my behavior. Sometimes he has some bad days with the students who don’t give a damn. Maybe it is one of those days. So I should just go to my home I suppose, that is my best option. I don’t want to disturb my teachers anyway. They seem pretty irritable a lot of times. I just do not want to disturb them. But what should I tell mom? What do I do? I can’t tell her that I skipped school to smoke, even though she probably did it when she was younger. So I don’t see how or why she would do something to me, but I know in my heart that she would. I just know it.

I looked up at the sky, and it was the same. It looked like gray cotton candy. The cold rain kept on coming down as well. I was wet, and I barely could could go on. I felt cold, freezing. My feet were soking wet. The cold rain seeped through my shoes and into my socks. I needed to get home I just needed to. I could stand the cold much longer. I needed to get home faster. Only if I could run, get there faster. But I feel to tired, and I don’t want to considering I already have fallen down running in the rain. Now I finally got to my block. And once again I found myself here, just as the begginning of my journey as well. The neighborhood was poor, the grass was brown, dead, and had completely held no water. The trees’ roots could not fit in the little squares of dried up dirt. The concrete had been broken around the tree. There was no grass in the little squares deprived of water, and the trees had no leaves. Just naked branches that were a light brown color. All the dried up leaves had fallen to the floor around the trees with nobody who cared enough to clean it up. The road was cracked all through out the block and was a light gray for no workers had laid down cement for as long as I can remember. The houses on the street were small, they all had black dirt scattered all over the sides. All of the one story houses were an ugly tan color that had lost it’s vibrant feel since the last painting. The roofs were dark brown and rough like sandpaper. The windows on the houses had so much dirt and dust on them that you could barely see through or out of them. Suddenly a car had speeded past the block, it had a huge cloud of dark gray exhaust that went into the air. The car was dark red with rust that covered around the doors and windows. The rust looked dark green and the hubcaps were covered with rust as well. I went up to my house, the smallest on the block, it had a clear light gray walkway that led up to my house. The front door was dark brown that was almost completely flat. There was almost no moldings on it except a square design that stuck out. There was also a bigger square molding that also stuck out. There was no small window on the door, just hard wood and the dull, tiresome door design. I walked up to the house as my old shoes were being worn down by the second. The shoes were torn apart and there was a hole in the shoe so that anybody could see my torn sock. I walked closer to the door as the sky looked as if a dark painting on a canvas was covering the town. The door had no doorknob, I assume it just fell off and nobody cared enough to fix it. I pushed the cold door open and saw my mom lay on the ugly, torn up couch. She was sleeping like a baby, she seemed to usually do that when I came home, showing no interest whatsoever in my life. She never seemed to do it until a few years ago. I guess she just feels a little bereaved. Just as the bigginning of my story of woe and sadness. But the following is where the story takes a different path.

Chapter II: Julian’s PerspectiveI walked into the room. She was laying on the couch, her face was visible from the side. her hair was hanging down.

Her arms were off the the couch. Hanging on the floor. She looked awake. Her eyes were open, wide open. She had the same blanket on. She did not say anything as I came into the house. She was still as a rock. I asumed she was tired, so I did not bother to wake her. Her feet were also hanging off the couch. I went into the other room, thinking that, well… that she was too tired at the moment. I went into my room quitely and then I jumped onto my bed. The time was about 9 o’clock so Edgar was out the door already. As i jumped onto my bed, the floor made a great big creaking sound. It sounded like the floor was going to break from below me. When I landed on my naked matress, I bounced up in the air a few feet up. Then I landed off my matress. The floor made a loud banging sound that echoed greatly throughout the house. But it was not enough sound to wake up mother. I sat there thinking. I wondered why mom did not be bothered from my loud noise. It was quite surprising. But also more so, why she was not bothered from me coming into the house and obviously not going to school. I expected there to be great consequences. But she did not move an inch. She was just there, doing nothing. She was obviously awake, she had her eyes open. But why did not she mind me coming in obviously not going to schoool. She did not ask any questions or anything, it is quite peculiar. She just layed on the couch seeming calm and sort of lifeless. She did not move whatso ever. I am confused. Maybe she just did not care. But how should I express to her without her getting mad. I guess I could star off by saying, “Please do not get mad at what I am about to say,” but after all she does have the right to be quite upset, I really won’t blame her she will get mad. I am going to tell her, not caring about the consequences or anything. I need to, I really do.

I finally sat up to get ready to tell mother. I took in a big sigh, and then let the air air out. I got up after that and rolled my shoulders back three times. My muscles cracked and I felt loose. I walked out of my room, the floor boards crecked each time I stepped on the unstable floor. Mom was still on the couch, and she was still as quiet as any inanement object. She was in the

same condition as when I saw earlier, the exact same. It was quite odd to me. I was completely in the room, so I walked over to the chair in the room. The chair had rips and was ripped and torn. It is the same chair that I used the first time I held Edgar as a baby. That is a chair that brings back a lot of memories.I walked over slowly to the chair, mom was still in the exact same position. Laying down in the same position. i stood right above the chair, facing towards it, so I turned around very slowly. I then sat right down in the chair. Though the chair was torn, it was still as soft as a cloud. I scratched my head slightly, and sighed as well, then I began to speak my mind to her. I said hoestly, “I know what I did is bad, but please just stay with me here, okay. I was irrisponsible and yes I do deserve punishment. So stay with me. I did not go to school, I know, I should have. But I did not do that, I am really sorry. Instead of doing that, I went off into an alley way some where. While I was in that alley way, I started to smoke. I know, it is bad that I smoked, I should not have done it, I feel bad for it. But anyway, that is what I irresponsibly did. Then when I got out of the alley way, there was a an. He was tall when he stood straight up. And whenever I went somewhere he went the same way. He was following me. I don’t know who it is but I am really scared. I don’t know who he is and for some strange reason, I think he knows who I am. That is why he is following me, but I am not sure. I do not really understand, for one what he wants with me, but I am really really scared. I need your help. I know I was stupid but you still need to help me. I really need you right now. More than ever. What should I do for one, and how should I handle this, I have no idea. I know we probably on different pages right now, because before we were disgusted by each other, but I need you so much right now. So please, please, please answer my questions, need someone with more expierience than myself. Please,” I said to her. She did not do anything though. Nothing. This is quite strange, I don’t understand. I do not understand at all. So I said in a much louder voice, Hello! Is this some sort of a game because it is not funny. I am serious, you know that right?” She still did not answer me. What the heck, I was getting quite mad. “What the heck! This is not funny, do yoiu here me? This is not okay! I am opening up to and you do nothing! So answer me, answer me now!”

I stood up, angrier than I have ever been in a long time. I walked over to her, and I felt the carpet that I was standing on. The carpet was wet. It seemed like it soaked up a lot of some sort of liquid. Then I saw a little glow of light from under the couch. I bent down slowly and dragged the glowing object out from under the couch. I saw it clearly now. It is a razor. That haunted me. What was she doing with a razor, and why is it under the couch? What is going on? I don’t understand. It makes no sense. But it scared me anyway. It scared me to death. What was going on? I slowly lifted up from the floor so I was completely standing up. I looked down at mom, and her face was the same. I put my hand on the blanket. The blanket was also quite moist. I did not understand. I was going to pull the blanket back, but I felt really hesitent. So i did not quite yet. But I took a really deep breathe in and then as I let the breathe out I threw the blanket back behind me. The blanket flew back very fast and it came down very slowly. My eyes were closed, all I could see is black. I was scared to open my eyes. I did not want to. I was scared about what I would see. I did not know if I had the guts. But I did. I opened my eyes as wide as I could make them and pointed below me at mom. Oh… my.... god… what do I do. I had no idea it was going to be this. She is dead.

Chapter III: Mother’s PerspectiveNobody likes me. What can I say, it’s true. Nobody cares. There really is no point in my living. Nobody would care if I

died. Nibody. I even hate myself. I can’t stand the things I have done to my kids, or anybody. I am a pain to be around. What is the point of my living. Everybody in the town who knows me, hates my guts. It is true. The only reason that my kids would care is now they would not have a home. Or they would, no parents though. They would have to find a new family to be with. Otherwise, they sort of would enjoy it. They would be happy. I am sure for a little they would be sad. But they would eventually look back and say, “This is better than if mom was still here.” I can’t go on living with everybody hating me, it is too painful. My kids mean a lot to me, but still, they even hate me. I can’t believe it. I don’t know if I like myself anymore. What I have done to my children will never escape my mind, I don’t think I can live with the things I have done. Then I thought of a few weeks ago. I was with Julian, Edgar was not there. But I took off my belt, and then I hit him as hard as I could with the belt. Again and again. Over and over again, as hrd as I could. I don’t even really know why I was hitting him so hard. I know it was because he said something, but I don’t remember. It was so isignificant that I don’t even remember. But despite that, I was hitting him as hard as I could. Over and over again. I remember that he was screaming as loud as he could from pain. He was screaming, he was in an excrutiating state of pain. It was really painful for him. His screams echoed loudly through the room. He got huge scars across his face. He had bruises, he was crying. There was blood. His tears weren spilling onto the floor and making the ground wet. He was screaminh, “Stop, stop, stop!” But I did not stop. I just kept on hitting him, over and over again. He hurt my ears with my screams. But I still hit him as hard as I could. I made a note for him, and I left it for him right on the table. It said:

I am sorry. I do not rhink I can live with myself any longer. I know this choice seems quite strange. But I could not live with the stench of myself anymore. I just can’t. I am truley sorry. I hope you know that I truley do love you guys. But this is my choice. I don’t know if you will be fine with my descision, but it is not your choice. I know it seems a little selfish of me. Try to stay calm, and you guys may hate me, and you know what, everybody does. Even me. Once again, I am really sorry, I hope that you won’t hate me forever.

Love, VioletHopefully he cares ebough to pick it up from the table. I can’t be sure it though, I really can’t be sure that he will care

enough. But, I am crossing my fingers. Chapter IIII: Julian’s Perspective

My mom was bleeding all over. The blood was all over the place. On her shirt, that was the wetness of the carpet. It got on her pants. It was all red, all over the couch and the blanket as well. I grabbed her hand. I flipped it over and there was a huge cut all across her wrist. It was bleeding, that was where the blood came from. The cut was pink. It was thick. Then there was a cut across her neck. That was bleeding as well. Blood was dripping on the floor. Her neck was all covered with blood, the couch was ruined. So was the blanket. Everything was bloody. I saw the muscles from her wrist. Some blood was spirting out. She was a

bloody dead body. My god, what do I do? What the hell do I do? Why did she do it, what ‘s her reason? I am all alone. I am all alone. What am I supposed to do, take care of my brother? Go to school? What do I do? There is blood on my hands, I am freaked out. But I kept on looking at the dead body that haunted me. My heart was beating out of my chest and I… I don’t really know. All I know is that, I have nobody to lean on, nobody to go to. Mom did not do much but she did at least have a house fo me to live in. That is enough! But now what do I do? What the hell am I supposed to do? No mom or dad! I am 14 years old! 14! Why this, why this? I know, I took her for granted, now I am sad when she is gone. Goodness gracious. I don’t understand. Me and Edgar only have each other, and right now, and we hate each other. Ever since I yelled at him, he hated me, and he is going to be excited about the news. We will probably… actually, I have no clue what I should do or what is going to happen. This is really great. My mother committed suicide, that is just great, my god. For me at least, all hope is lost. I had no idea her life was going to end this way. I thought somebody would kill her honestly, I mean, she is hated so much. But I just want to know, what is to make of me from here on out. What am I going to do, what is my future.

After that I got mad, I started to scream. I got my chest out and my shoulders far back. I felt a crack in my muscles. Then I felt, a tear of suffering come out of my right eye. It went down my cheek and off my chin. It fell to the floor and splashed there with the blood that was on the floor. It was a little clear spot in a pool of red. It seemed quite out of place. I looked down at the blood and it was slowly soaking into my shoes, mixed with the rain. I got horrified at the sight. I started to yell. I started get madder and madder as the time went by. The time seemed slow, I seemed to be in the time. I mean, they say, “Time flys by when your having fun,” I guess it is the opposite with the opposite emotion. My eyes got red and more tears started to slowly form in my eyes. My cheeks got wet, and so did around my eyes. As I worried more about my future, I also started to sweat. It was on my forehead. My whole face felt moist and very uncomfortable. I could not believe what I was going through at the moment. I started to cry more and more. My face got more red. It felt like there were two emotions mixed in a large bowl, anger and woe. That bowl is me. I felt that I took for granted her when at least she had a house I could stay in. Now she is gone, and my last emotion towards her was anger. Now that is the emotion that she fleaded the earth with. The feeling that her own son did not love her. I did not even have the chance to say sory before she left her exsistence on Earth. I started to yell. “Why?” I asked while looking up. I yelled that as loud as I possibley could. The noise filled the room. Then I yelled louder, “No, No, No, No, No, No! I never wanted this. I went around screaming and being furious around the house. I threw things, got mad. I saw a ceramic bowl. I threw it on the already dirty floor. It shaddered all over the place. It looked like it had exploded on the floor. It went out in all directions, all separate ways. “Why her? Why her out of all people? She is all I had!” It was true. Dad had already left. I kicked down a chair. The wooden parts went there own way. I found a broken mirror in a corner of the room. I grabbed a piece of the shattered glass. I shouted to my reflection in the mirror, “Look what you have done, you made her kill herself you good for nothing prick! It is your fault! Only your fault!” It is my fault all mine. Nobody else holds the responsibility. Nobody. I then crushed the glass mirror in my hands. Little glass pieces came out the bottom. Along with blood that spilled on to the floor. I opened my hand and looked at it. I saw the shards of mirror stuck in there but I did not care. I was still mad. I grabbed a whole bunch of the mirror and threw it against the wall. It looked like the glass had just dissapeared, it had just turned to dust as it hit the wall. It had also made a sound. The sound was high pitched. My hand was bleeding all over tyhe place. It got on my shirt, made the shirt moist and wet. “It did not have to happen to me! Why make me suffer? Me out of all people! What am I going to do? What can I do? What am I supposed to do? I am 14, I don’t know what to do! Tell me, someone, tell me!” I yelled out with tears going down my face and onto my shirt. I was yelling as loud as I posibley could. It made me dizzy. Made me feel like I was going to pass out at any second in the future. I was still mad though, still ragingly mad. I went stomping over to my mother. I was standing right over her. She was still obviously, and I put my hands on each one of her shoulders. My hands got bloody from them being on her shoulders. I then yelled right in her face, “What is the reason? Why did you have to go? Why do I have to suffer. Why me? Why me god damnit, why me? Tell me!” I felt crazy, but after all, I think I was going a little bit insane. “What is the reason, do you have one? Why… do… I… have… to… suffer?” Then I stormed away from her. I was walking around the room while breathing hard and being confused. I was confused about, well… I don’t know. I guess more mad than anything else. “I do not want this, I do not need this! I do not want this, I do not need this! I do not want this, I do not need this! I do not want this, I do not need this!” Walking around the room as mad as can be. Then I yelled with all my might, “I DO NOT WANT THIS, I DO NOT WANT THIS. I DO NOT NEED THIS, I DO NOT NEED THIS! I DO NOT WANT THIS, I DO NOT WANT THIS. I DO NOT NEED THIS, I DO NOT NEED THIS!” Then I went over to a wall. I put my hand on it. The wall was cold, and my hands were bloody. Then I started ro hit the wall as hard as I could with my bare hands. I took my arm back and swung it forth as hard as I could. My hand hurt then. The wall was cracked, I could see the base of the wall under the paint. My hand got red and there was part of the what the wall was made of in my hand. Despite the fact that my hand hurt like hell, I kept on swinging my hand back and forth hitting the wall. My knuckles hurt a lot, but, I did not care much. I just kept on punching the wall. I had stopped eventually, I was tired, and felt like I was going crazy or something. I just stopped. I had sat down on the dirty floor with glass shards. The ground was cold, it felt hard and I was as tired as I have ever been. Then I screamed out some more, I had yelled, “Help me with my great woes, somebody, come to my rescue. I have nobody to guide me and nobody to lead me on the right track towards life. Please, someone come to my rescue, save me from my sorrows!” Then I had fallen down. I was dizzy, bloody and felt like crap. I wanted to go to sleep as well. So I tried on that floor as I was bleeding out all over the place, laying on the cold floor covered all in dirt, looking at my mother who was dead as road kill, the shards of glass, shards of shattered ceramic material, and the thought that nobody was there for me to lean on them during times of sadness such as these.

I woke up finally, my eyes felt like they were glued shut by the yellowish, greenish eye boogers. There was red around my eyes. I felt tired. Like I could not move a long way in any direction. Move at all really. I did not feel like it. I saw that I was covered in blood. All over me was blood. My clothes were wet, but they got dry. My clothes were very red, you could not see much of the color before they got bloody. There was still wet blood on the floor, it was really gross. I could not believe what I

had done. I was a monster, it looked like I had just destroyed the whole house, or destroyed it more than it already was. My knuckles hurt. They had scabs on them. The scabs were red. I saw the glass that was shattered on the floor clearly from the angle I was. I got up, very slowly. My muscles were aching before, and they cracked as I got up to a standing position. I first got on my knees, then rolled my shoulders back very slowly. Then I got one foot on the floor, put my hand on the same thigh of the leg that had the foot on the ground. I pushed myself up, getting both my feet on the floor clearly. I first was in a straight posture, then quickly turned into a hunched back. I was standing in the pool of blood, I felt that my socks got soaked in the blood. It made my feet coldand heavy. I could not separate my toes because my socks was much too heavy. I could not believe I did this damage. I don’t know what got over me. I could not believe that I got so mad. I do not really know why. But the damage is done now, nothing to do now. At least there is nobody to beat me now. I walked outside. Step after step, on the hard floor, not knowing what was in store for me in my future, possibley something dark, possibly something light as the sun, thinking that I would never see my mother alive again, now she is just a corpse in the middle of the room, thinking about my brother, he would be sad at this news, the same as I, he would not act quite the same, he would cry, be sad for weeks, isolate himself from anyone for a long while, I would not tell many people either, I was in the middle of the room, standing still as a rock on the hard floor. I looked at mom for a second or two, I saw flies going over her. She smelled terrible, like rancid food but an actual body. I started to cry. Cry because of my unclear future. My future could go arrie any time. I guess some people think that being in the unknown is a luxury, I think it is quite scary. Not knowing what going to happen. Our teacher made us read a book in class. Because I am dumb, I did not understand it but what ever. It was called 1984 by George Orwell. Or that was his penn name, his real name was something like Eric Blair. I am pretty sure that was it. He had a quote in the book, I thought it was good, I thought about it, it was, “ War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.” I only pay attention to the last one, “Ingnorance is strength.” I guess, well, I guess it means that… well he meant ignorance is strength is easy it saying keep them dumb you will be more powerful and less likely to be overthrown. If you look at society today any good dictator makes sure his nation is extremely ignorant therefore rebellion is less likely. Orwell was right in predicting this for the future. But I think I took it a litttle differently, differently in that it also relates to people on a personal level. Like that… well I don’t know, I guess you can be more confident if you did not know something than if you did.

Then I saw a note on the floor. The words that it said were the following; I am sorry. I do not rhink I can live with myself any longer. I know this choice seems quite strange. But I could not live with the stench of myself anymore. I just can’t. I am truley sorry. I hope you know that I truley do love you guys. But this is my choice. I don’t know if you will be fine with my descision, but it is not your choice. I know it seems a little selfish of me. Try to stay calm, and you guys may hate me, and you know what, everybody does. Even me. Once again, I am really sorry, I hope that you won’t hate me forever.

Love, VioletI kept on walking towards the door just to take a long breath in of fresh air. I walked slowly there as the woodboards

creaked. Each step was small, I guess I felt it was uncomfortable to be bloody, or rathe have blood all over yourself. The blood was dripping off my hand and onto the ground, ike it was creating a trail. I touched the door, it was cold, but still, with my hand as wide as I could possibly make it. I pushed the door. I pushed it open to as wide as it would possibly go. I looked outside, the sky was gray. It looked deppressing. But it had stopped raing. It was weird to now hear nothing, not a sound from the sky. No rain. But the sidewalk was wet. There was pools of water and such that were dirty. They went deep, some were about 4 inches deep. The water looked green and polluted from the gross things people just leave behind them in this city. I then walked down the cold stairs and finally sat down there. The stairs were rocky and wet, it made me uncomfortable, but by this point, I did not give a crap. Nobod was outside but me. Which is quite understandable. Who would want to be out in this terrible weather. It was cold outside my arms kind of felt really numb. My fingers felt fat, and my face stung considering it was so cold. Then I just thought in that place on the stoopp, like I have many times before. I thought about the time I lost so much of my respect for father. I think I started to think of him because, well, he was the first of my parents to leave, and recently my mother left. Very recently. So I am pretty sure, that is why I started to thik about dad more. I don’t know if it is understandable, but it is my reason. I thought about the time when I knew that he did not have an… ordinary job, lets say. I knew that he was selling drugs on the dirty streets of a dirty city. I don’t know why I was out, but at about 11 at night, I was in the streets. I do not remember why, I just remember that I was. As I was out there, i noticed big tall men. They were very big and they stood like giants as if they were like the king of the world. I then saw a big bag of white material that was being passed over to another male. It looked like powder, then, I had no idea what it was, but now, I know that it was cocaine. I don’t remember so well, because this experience was when I was 7 or eight. But I don’t know why or how but I noticed that the man giving the bag to another, was my father. I saw that this male that was being given the bag exchanged for quite a sizeable amount of money. Then I got scared, because, I had no idea what my father was doing. I was scared out of my socks. I was surprised, I had always thought that dad had worked in like an office or something. But then a trigger clicked in me, I knew that this was his job. I knew because, well it did not seem consistent, if you know what I mean. Some nights he came home at 6, some at 12. Thsi got me scared for a second reason as well, it seemed dangerous, I mean they did not seem like particularly nice men. They looked big and mean. So then,I ran,I ran as fast as my little legs could. I do not remember what it felt like. I just remember that I ran towards our house as fast as I could. I was yelling with as much power as my lungs would allow me to. I ran home, my heart was pumping as fast as can be. “Thump, thump, thump,” the sound it would make as I ran across the one story house that was a dirty green with scratches. “Thump, thump, thump,” the sound it would make as I ran and ran, trying desparatly to get home very fast. My footsteps hit hard on the black concrete floor, it was like I stomping, the sound that it would make was deep. That is about it with what I remember from that day, though not detailed, it had a scar in my life that is still present to this day. I think it left a scar on me because I nevewr imagined my fathe in that fashion. I had always imagined him having a real job, a good one. One that could sustain the family for years to come. A job that is not illegal. Possibley one that actually helps people. Does something for the greater good, I don’t

know why I had that idea about him. He just seemed like a nice man, a man that wanted to help people. Wanted to do something. I was also dissapointed in him as well. He had potential. He could have done something. He was smart, I mean, he went into one of the top 50 high schools in the country. He did not go to college, but still, with a high school diploma he could have gotten a good job. I mean, being a police officer is a pretty good job. The salary pays about 45,000 dollars a year. We could have bought a nice house with that. But instead of doing something good for the city of Washington DC by stopping criminals. HE added to the problem in the city, he became a criminal.

As I was on that stoop, I also thought of the worst day of my life. The day my father had left. Left despite that our family needeed him. Needed him more then anything. He had money, maybe not a lot of money, but he had enough to sustain the family. He was also the thing that made me happy each day. It made me feel, well, he made me feel good when I came home. He brought a smile to myu face. He was always good with me, and he made me feel really good each day. That is why it was a really bad day for me. Here is the story; I was in my bed. I sank deep in the matress. It was comfortable, it felt like a cloud. I have heard that a not hard matress was worse for your back. But I really did not care, It was comfortable and at the time, that is really all I cared about. The bed was soft, I felt really at home that night, I felt that I was going to have a really good night sleep. The night was pretty. The stars were bright, the sky was black. In the glistening midnight sky, the stars shined so bright. Though the sky was black, it looked like it had a hue of blue in it as well. As you followed your eyes up above you, it got blacker and darker. There was clouds as well. The clouds looked bright. They looked sort of blue in the midnight sky. They got tyhere brightness from the stars that shined brightly. Like you could see the stars light through the clouds. Which looked quite beautiful; in contrasst to the dark sky. Then dad walked into the room. He walked in with kind eyes and he stood straight and tall. He walked over slowly with a duck- footed walk. He went over to me and kneeled down. He looked at me with a smile. I looked back at him with an even bigger one. He tyhen said to me with a very kind voice, “Hey Julian.”

Then I said back to him with na smile as well, “Hey dad.”He then took a deep breath in, and then let the air out slowly. “You know I really love you and your brother, right?“Yeah,” I siad in a confused voice.“You know that I do not want to do anything to hurt you, I just want to help, right?” “Yeah,” I siad again in a confused voice.Then his smile turned bigger and he said, “Good. I love you and Edgar. T%hrough hard times or easy times, please,

always remember that fact. Do we have a deal. I need you to promise me that. You need to.”“I do,” I said. “I do.”“That is good. I never want you to forget, okay. Never forget. Never deny it, when it seems not true, tell yourself that it

is. Becuse it is.” he said to me, looking straight into my eyes. Then he took something out of his pocket. It was sleak, blue, and very small. It looked new and shiny. It was only about one inch wide and about three inches long. Then he said to me, “This plays music, I want you to have it. This will helop you go to sleep right now, okay.” I said nothing, but then he started to play a song. “Okay go to sleep okay.” He stayed with me as the song started like this;Come gather 'round peopleWherever you roamAnd admit that the watersAround you have grownAnd accept it that soonYou'll be drenched to the boneIf your time to youIs worth savin'Then you better start swimmin'Or you'll sink like a stoneFor the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and criticsWho prophesize with your penAnd keep your eyes wideThe chance won't come againAnd don't speak too soonFor the wheel's still in spinAnd there's no tellin' whoThat it's namin'For the loser nowWill be later to winFor the times they are a-changin'.

At this point in the song, I began to get drowsy. My eyes started to close, very slowly. I started to flip to my side and I sank nto my bed even more. I trtied to stay awake, I really wanted to, but I wasw tired. Then dad went up to a standing position, he stood up tall. He then turned around very slowly. Then he started to walk out. He took big steps and each time his foot hit the ground I could slightly awoken by the creaking sound. Then he waited for a second as he was just going out. He looked behind him, and then he walked forward.Come senators, congressmen

Please heed the callDon't stand in the doorwayDon't block up the hallFor he that gets hurtWill be he who has stalledThere's a battle outsideAnd it is ragin'It'll soon shake your windowsAnd rattle your wallsFor the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathersThroughout the landAnd don't criticizeWhat you can't understandYour sons and your daughtersAre beyond your commandYour old road isRapidly agin'Please get out of the new oneIf you can't lend your handFor the times they are a-changin'.

Then I was awoken by a huge car sound from outside. The song was still playinhg, and I had a thought, actually, for that matter, I knew. I knew that it was dad out there. I knew it in my heart I tried to deny it, but that is like denying that 7 times 7 is 49. It was obvious. It was dad who left in the car. I knew the family was in danger. Then I just let the song finish.

The line it is drawnThe curse it is castThe slow one nowWill later be fastAs the present nowWill later be pastThe order isRapidly fadin'And the first one nowWill later be lastFor the times they are a-changin'.

8Chapter I: Julian’s Perspective

Then once again, I saw the man. He had his hat and also his trench coat. He looked at me, but I could not see his face. Then he took off his hat. I knew who he was. I was quite surprised. I was shocked inside, but did not show it through facial expressions. He looked at me with hard eyes, and he kept on walking towards me. He took large steps. And then he stopped in thje middle of the street, still looking at me. I walked over to him. He looked down at me and then he kneeled to my hieght. He got on his nice smile. Then I said to him, “Don’t smile at me.” Then I turned around and walked forward, whistling the tune, of “The Times They Are a-Changin.”

THE END.”