Dear Dr. Ben
Today is the first day that I have ever written in a
I have a lot to tell you, and I know that you have no choice
but to listen. I don't know why you are Dr Ben; I just think the
name suits you.
I need somebody to talk to, and I don't have any friends.
I have never had a proper friend, not unless you include the
little deaf girl I met in a play park. But I only met her once.
So that doesn't count. My Dad died four years ago, and now I seem
to be all on my own. My Mom does nothing but drink alcohol
anymore - I don't know what to do.
You are the only one I can talk to, and you know? You are the
only other person that I know anyway to talk to. If I did have
any friends, they would tell me to go and get some help, but then
I also know that it would be easier said than done.
So I can't. Goodbye for now.
I outstretched my arm into the darkness, the candle lighting up
hardly any of the wood. I adjust myself in the branches, perching
the pink leather bound diary on my knee. Blowing out the candle,
I lower myself down the tree, steady my footing then grab the
book as I step down again.
I hold tightly onto the branch above my head, let my legs dangle
past the bark to lower my bum onto the branch below me.
Sitting steadily, I push the book into the hollowed part of the
I need to run now.
Jumping down from the low height of the oak I used to come to
with my Dad, I start to dash along the mossy undergrowth.
After what seems like forever in the darkness I reach the
familiar row of street lights. I count the houses, counting seven
I run up the drive, feeling the ruts in the wall and begin to
I reach the window, and the light snaps on. His face leers
towards me, fists already clenched. I brace myself, knowing that
nobody is going to come.