The Road to the End (part one)

Jake pucnhed the wall in his room.

Such a turmoiled childhood.

So unfair.

He was 11 and his parents were in the room next to his fighting so loud he swore the neghbors three levels down could hear.

They were arguing about the usuall stuff, why he or she didn't clean this, or why he or she didn't bother to watch the dog, or pick Jake up from school on time.

But it wasa fine with Jake. He hated school anyway. The dirty looks he got as he went down the halls. He sat there in the classroom, looking at the other boys' nice shirts and pants, they nice hair and teeth.

It wasn't his fault he was poor. It wasn't his fault he was doomed to a life-time of hand-me-downs and shirts he found in the dumpster.

He cursed under his breath and kicked the other wall. His parents fought all the time. They were a poor family and considered an partment in Harlem a luxury.

He just thought it was all unfair. He was sick of it all. Sick of the fights. If they fought so much, how come they just didn't get a divorce? Probably because of him. They couldn't give him part time custody. It would be too much money and too much hassle.

But he didn't deserve this. This wasn't his fault. He yelled and kicked the wall again. Then he sat down on his bed. He calmed down and looked around. There were three or four large gouges in the wall.

Just then his father opened the door to his room and walked in. He was half drunk and angry.

"What did I tell you about ruinin' these walls!" He bellowed. Jake ran and crouched in the corner. Oh that was another thing on the list, his father was a drunk and a child abuser. His father stormed over to the corner shakily. He picked Jake up by his collar,

"You got a reason for this, boy?"

"No sir," Jake managed to squeak through the tears, "No please dont hurt me." His father's face went red,

"No sir? No sir! I'll teach you "no sir"! His father threw him down and began to kick Jake in the stomach with his boots. Jake managed to take blow by blow as pain surged through his body and knocked the breath out of him.

After his father was done he spat in Jake's face and stormed out of the apartment to go to the bar. His father often abused him for the smallest things. But Jake learned not to tell. He just told the teachers that he got hurt playing foorball. No biggy.

But this time Jake had had enough. He ran to his dresser and took all of his clothes out. He shoved them into his empty backpack. He was running away. He was done with the fighting, tha anger, and the abuse. He was leaving. His parents wouldn't even notice anyway.

He packed up tight. He then went to the kitchen/living room and got a sticky note. He put it on the table and wrote,

"dear "Mom" and "Dad",

I'm leaving. Im done. I'm sick of this. I hope you never see me again."

And with that he left. He didn't know where or how he was going to get food or shelter. But all he knew was that he was leaving the hell hole he called home.