No Hope

The Black Sheep: Book One

In my last period class, I sat staring at the clock as if I had mind control over it. Its as if time came to a grinding halt. Finally the clocks hand clicked onto the appropriate hour and the bell rang, signaling the day was over. I got home and waited outside on the steps for my mother to come home from work. I needed encouragement, I needed a hug, I needed to tell her what happened. The car pulled into the carport as the sun was setting. I thought, finally she has arrived! I hopped off the steps and trotted over to her. As she walked toward me, I noticed her arms were folded over her chest and there was a scorned look on her face that read she was in no mood to deal with my petty issues. Whenever my mother arrived home, she would leave the car door or trunk open if there were items to be carried into the house. I spoke as I ran pass her to grab the bags. Partially out of breath, I described the details of my day as I kept in stride with her fast-paced walk. My mom told me to stop feeling sorry for myself as she emptied the bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter. She continued to say, there are a lot of kids out there that dont have half the benefits I did. Children in Africa would kill to have a roof over their head and food on their plate. How would you know what the children in Africa wanted? I thought in my head. I failed to see the relevance. It was as if someone ignited a fire or flipped a switch inside me. My very soul was being consumed with anger. Flames of self-loathing burned inside my belly, and my stomach ached badly. Deep down I knew it wouldnt be okay ever and my existence seemed ridiculous now. Waves of regret and sorrow crashed down on me all at once. My mothers comment turned the seething embers of hopelessness into full-fledged flames. I retreated to my bedroom to scrawl these intense thoughts in my diary that does not judge or disappoint.