What is the purpose of life? Such a frequent question from all those normal kids, the ones with the fresh clothes and heart shaped sandwiches in school. Must be nice. While all I'm trying to do is figure out something dumb like the purpose of living life. What's the big deal anyway... Love? Whatever. I've never felt that before, and what I have seen has only led to more tears then you started with in the beginning. Happiness? I don't think anyone truly even understands that. Hope? Please, being hopeful is just as useful as sitting on the couch and watching workout videos. Faith? Sure, it's nice. Until you get persecuted for it.
My name is Morgan Brooks, and these are my everyday thoughts. My name is Morgan Brooks, and I have been beat since I was old enough to remember. My name is unimportant, and my death will come soon, either by my parents hands, or my own. No matter what I do, I can't find love, happiness, hope, or faith. But who needs them right? I've survived this long...
I remember the first time my mom started beating me. She grabbed my arm so tightly that a bruise appeared immediately. The whiskey breath reached me just as quickly. She threw me against the wall and started yelling how I was ruining her life. I can't see how that was possible since I was only laying on the ground looking up at the stars, dreaming a better dream. She kicked me till I was unconscious, and I woke up in my own blood. My dream became a nightmare.
My dad walked out when I was about four. Longer then most kids these days I guess, but he only hurt me, so I wasn't upset. As a matter of fact, I got over it pretty quickly. One less aggressor. My mother was especially sadistic that day, and her dripping eyeliner didn't help my image for her. I tried to giver her a hug, but she shoved me down and locked her bedroom door. Guess I won't see her for awhile. Good.
She started taking me to school so she could go to the bar when I was nine. It's a terrible burden to try and hide these bruises everyday, but I can't let people know. No, they can't. Not in my position. While others would wear shorts in summer, I'd stay with my hole-filled long-sleeved shirts and pants. I had practically no friends, and my teacher noticed, I knew she did. But she never said anything, so I never told her.
Winter came, and along with it Christmas. My mom invited some of her girl friends and some weird guys over and locked me outside. I guess most would consider this the worst day of their life, but this is when I met him. He was taking a walk and talking to what I guessed to be himself, and often looked up at the trees. He was looking down one of the branches when he caught eyes with the blue girl that was me. "Have you seen a bird around?" I was a little puzzled; I had expected the usual, what are you doing here? But this was very different. "Well, no, I guess I haven't." He looked a little sad then asked "Do you want to come look with me?" Well, I didn't have anything better to do, right?
When we walked down the street he told me exactly what he was doing. Apparently his pet bird had flown out the window while he was letting it sit on his shoulder, and now we was trying to get it back. "He's amazing. I taught him how to say I love you... well it doesn't come out just like that, it is more like I you lub." I smiled for the first time in my whole ten years of being. "Well then why don't we try saying that?" We must have looked insane, the girl with the holes in her clothes and the boy with the bird, screaming I you lub up and down the streets. But who am I to care?
A week passed from that day, and we started talking in school. We decided we would meet in the forest behind my house and start there at Saturday, eight o'clock. I couldn't wait. My very first friend! My very first planned occasion! I hope my mom wouldn't ruin it.
The week was rather uneventful. She threw some chemical in my eyes when I accidently tipped over a drinking glass and shattered it into pieces. I took a piece of glass up into my room and put it on the windowsill. I wasn't really sure why.
Saturday finally came, and I think I got there around sixish. What can I say, I was excited? The best part was, he was too. There he was, sitting around a little camp fire he made. Must have been in boy scouts, I figured. We sat there and talked for hours, about our dreams, hopes, and faiths. He asked me what my dream was after he finished telling his about becoming an engineer. I said "I don't really have one. I had one along time ago, but that is long gone now." He looked at me with his hazel eyes and said "Well what was that dream about, miss brooks?" I smiled and said" Well, if I can remember correctly, I wanted to travel the world. And I wanted to teach one day. Even though it seems like hard work." He got up and said "Ah yes, I can see it now! Miss Brooks, teacher abroad, helping all those in need!"
We met there every weekend, eventually making our hangout a little more elaborate with woven leaf roofs and carved benches. It was really something to do other then talk, and we really had planned to make a house out of it one day, and we'd live there happily ever after, and live all our dreams out. some times one of us wouldn't show up, me because of my mom, and for him, well I didn't want to get personal. We never explained our absences, and I liked it like that. I didn't want that world in this one. For the first time in my life, I think I was actually feeling love.
One Saturday, he didn't show up. I guess that was normal, I mean we both missed occasionally.What tipped me off was when he didn't show up for school. And he didn't show up that next weekend. I went up to one of the girls in my class that next week and asked where he was. What she told me killed me on the inside. His parents beat him to death.
I ran away from school, and never stopped. I reached our hangout, only to find it empty like all the other days. It was true. How could it possibly be true! He was the strong one, the one who showed me the world and kept his dreams and brought back mine! I started flipping the benches. I kicked over the support he had so masterly crafted that supported the leaf woven roof. Tears spurred through my eyes more then I had even given when I was being beat. That is when I saw the letter taped under the bench.
In the carefully written letter was the true story. How he was being beaten, and tried to stay strong. How he never knew what he did wrong. How much i meant to him, and how he wasn't sure if he would make it much longer. He signed it with the phrase: I you lub.
I ran home and broke a window with my bare fist. I couldn't even notice the blood flowing from my knuckles. My mom was passed out on the couch with a beer bottle in her hand, so I didn't need to be quiet. I went up to my room and put my head in the pillow. How was I suppose to survive this hell. He was the strong one, not me. He was the one who was going to make it to his dreams, not me. But no, the devil swooped down and took him for his own. But he was mine, not his. What is the purpose of living life?
I took out a pen and paper and wrote my last letter to the boy. It was not meant to be sent. But I wrote it with all my heart.
You are my best friend in the world, and always will be. You showed me the stars and gave me back my dreams and freedom. You were my escape from the reality I currently live in. While I'm sorry you lost your bird, I am so happy it brought us together. Who knew right? I'm sorry that I never asked how your life was, I truly am. Maybe we could have worked Sundays and made our house quicker, and ran away sooner. I guess the only thing left so say is, is I you lub.
Love, Miss Brooks.
It took everything I had to get those words on paper. it was coated in my blood, the blood of the abused. I folded it and wrapped it with string the way he did, and ran back outside to our gathering spot. I took our two letters and bonded them to the tree that provided us shade with his woven-leaf. I walked away, away from my world of dreams, love, happiness, and faith. Who needs it, right?
I went back into my bedroom, staring out the window. What was I suppose to do, wait for my turn? Wait for her to kill me? I looked around my room, and saw the glass that was from the cup that one morning. I took it into my hand, squeezing it and making blood come out. It felt good. Better then what she does to me.
"Devil, you took my best friend and my dreams. But you can't take me!" I plunged the glass into my abdomen, and waited. The pain was instant, but that didn't phase me anymore. I laid on my bed, looking up at the cracked ceiling. "I'm coming. Six o'clock sharp. I you lub." My world, no, my nightmare started to fade away. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to wake and be in a house in the woods, with carved benches and a bird who can't quite speak right, and a boy whom I love. As I faded away, I think I heard a bird calling from outside.