Destiny

The Past

Ever since I was little I was always the outcast, the oddball. No one ever really paid any attention to me. The only time anyone did was when I was at school being bullied. I always wondered if I did something wrong, or if I said the wrong thing? Days turned into weeks which turned into months and eventually years.

Kids would beat me up, shove me in lockers and even steal my stuff. My parents in turn yelled and blamed me for them beating me up and stealing my stuff when they found out I needed a new notebook or other school supplies.

My parents never really cared. I'd come home beaten and bloody and they never asked "what happened?" "Are you okay?" "Who did this?" I used to try to tell them but they'd either ignore me or tell me maybe I should stop giving off the vibe that I want to be bullied and beat up.

I've never had any friends. As long as I can remember, this is how it has always been. My only solace? When I was about eight years old I found a strange book on my way home from school one day. It was an odd book to tell you the truth. It wasn't very big, however it was thick with many pages. The cover almost seemed to be made out of metal. The coloring was a red with blue corners and a strange black symbol in the middle. It was different than anything I had ever seen before, so I decided to keep it for myself. There was no name or address written in it for an owner to be found so why not?

I decided to start to use it as a journal. Since my parents wouldn't talk to me about anything without blaming me for what happened and I had no friends, I figured the best way to go was to journal everything in a sense. Maybe that would make me feel a bit better?

I wrote in the book one night about what happened that day. Just the usual, me getting beaten up and my parents not caring. Then something weird happened! When I finished my entry, writing from someone else just started showing up? That's not possible right?! I closed the book and opened it a few times, but believe me or not, the writing continued and was still there!

Whatever was going on, the person on the other end seemed to be worried about what was going on in my life. Someone actually worried about me? Maybe I was dreaming. That must be it! I closed the book, crawled in bed and fell asleep. I'm sure when I wake up and look in the book, it'll be gone. Just my writing would be in there.

I was wrong. I opened the book and their writing was still there. I slammed it closed, got my backpack and left for school. I spent the whole day trying to make sense of what was going on but nothing I could think of seemed to come close to what had happened. I tried to write it off, but it just kept happening. Over and over again, this other persons writing showed up in my book. Before I knew it, I actually looked forward to talking to whoever was on the other side.

I finally had a friend to talk to. Someone who seemed to care about what was happening in my life. I looked forward to going home after school! I'd get home, run upstairs, tend to whatever wounds I had and grab my book so I could start writing my pen pal for the night. We'd lose track of time and would end up talking for hours some days, but that was okay. It was the only escape, the only solace I received from my hell.

Then one day, it just stopped. I'd write in the book, but there was no answer. I tried multiple times, day after day and nothing! So I finally gave up. I stopped writing in the book because as it seems, I'm back to no one caring about me again. I thought things had changed, in all truth though? They were still the same. My life would always be like this, so I might as well just accept it.

Then when I turned 17, we moved to Jasper, Nevada. A new town, a new school, which means a new start right? I'm not very optimistic that things will be any different, but maybe, just maybe, things will start to turn around for me and be better. Maybe I'll make some friends and have a somewhat normal life?