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I heard a wonderful sound, the sound of an infant crying. Thank goodness. Not just any infant though, my infant. Its cries signaling its first breaths; the doctors tell me it’s a boy. My own tears fall silently down my cheeks. They hand me the babe, the motherly instincts kicking in. Near splitting image of his father; the fuzz of hair is a bit lighter shade of brown other then his fathers though. I look down at the precious bundle I’m holding feeling my heart full of pride. The infant opens his eyes and shows my characteristic. He has dark blue eyes. His name is Evan Johnson.

I’ve watched him grow up for his first five years of life. I see more and more of his father in him as each day passes. Though Evan is chubby now I see his fathers build in him, small now but by the time he is sixteen he will be taller then me. I also see some of his fathers personality but he has a mixture of both. He is very independent, though if things gets to tough he shows his fathers frustration. His little lips pushing forward in a pout, while his watery eyes looks towards me, a silent plea for help.

At ten years of age he already had his fathers slight build and boiling anger. I watched him attempt to make friends but nothing worked, everyone made fun of him because of his size. I reminisce on how people would make fun of his father. Evan would look so heartbroken but he'd try again. It seems as if he had gotten a quality from me, not being able to make friends easily.

I was right, Evan's sixteen now and he is taller then most. Evan wants to join the Army like His father. I promised myself I wouldn't stand in his way. The women flock to him since his face features are more sharp, his body build still slightly thin but not to thin. His attitude gentle but yet he is hard to control when he is angry. Evan reminds me so much of his father and yet his attitude he mostly got from me.

I stand in my own back-yard wondering what I did so wrong to deserve the news I had gotten before. My knuckles white as I clutched the little yellow tele-gram that had just changed my life. The images of the love of my life hugging me and promising that he'd return before he left for war replaying in my head like a cruel joke. I blink slowly as the tears fall from my blank gaze, I stare into nothingness remembering the look on my friends face. They were horrified at the letter, Amber gaze turned to sympathy as she took the letter from her fiance and looked at me. Chase held back his own tears desperately trying to remain strong for me.

My heart had stopped, fear working its way into my body like rain falling. I shook my head denying the plain evidence in front of me. My world had crumbled, their was no color in the sky. I had grabbed the letter and ran to the back-yard, hence the reason I am here now. The beauty I once saw in the world gone into a gray-ish color. I welcome the numbness that seems to slowly be creeping through me. Though I am somewhat angered that it is not getting rid of the ache in my heart. I slowly turn to the house that once held laughter now seem to be filled with dread, no hope was left in it.

I slowly walked back to the house not really seeing it as it was, but as a prison. It was a prison that would hold my heart forever, the house of hell. Amber stares at me but doesn't say anything, she can't. Chase is staring at the window in the kitchen, eyes closed as he mumbles things under his breath. My body feels like lead, to heavy to move, and to heavy to stand. I feel the cool kitchen floor beneath my knees, my eyes gazes downward. My mind vaguely registering that I had collapsed in the kitchen.

I feel my mind racing with thoughts of where am I going to go? What am I going to do? Suddenly two warm, strong hands grab my arms and jerk me so I look up. Warm, saddened honey colored eyes gaze into my blank ones. I vaguely realize through my haze that its Chase, despair began to fill me once more. Suddenly I desperately wanted out, and I desperately wanted the numbness to come back.

My ears pick up my own heart-wrenching sobs, the feelings of reality coming back with no mercy at all. I get up and run towards my room pulling out a chest. The chest held his most prized possessions. One item he refused to take because he feared that it would be ruined was his motorcycle shirt. I bring it to my face and sob with an intensity that shakes my body. I quickly lay on the bed with the shirt somewhat pleased to catch his scent still on it. Pain tears through my body once more realizing that the scent would fade eventually. Anxiety shots through me, suddenly darkness appears and I let it take me.

I'm sick of being pressured to talk to Sean, I'm sick of the fact that I look like the bad guy. He tells me that I shouldn't give up on the friendship, well excuse me if I have gotten angry with his behavior. I got a note from him over a week ago, I hadn't written him back so it looks like I have given up. Not only am I sick of him, I'm sick of being treated as if I'm nothing. I'm sick of my brother telling me what to do as if he can control me. My parents do everything in their power to annoy me in the mornings to send me off to school in a bad mood. Then there boys think they can dictate my life and control me. I'm sick of it, I'm also sick of people deciding who my friends are. I'm sick of people pointing out that I never feel good or I'm always mad. They can go ******** themselves if they don't care, I don't force them to listen. Casey is the exception to that, he hardly cares about things or people anyways. I WANT TO WORRY ABOUT MY PROBLEMS NOT ANYONE ELSE'S! No one can understand when I don't want to hear their problems. People get attitudes when I refuse to listen to them, true I should because I'm there friend I should regardless of my mood. Though I'm sick of it, I'm sick of feeling like the bad guy, I'm sick of not being able to have any other emotion other then happiness. People haven't noticed my withdraw of emotion, no one noticed how quickly I can hide my emotions once more. People claim I'm getting mean because of Casey, and Segun. No I learned from them yes but its because all anyone cares is about themselves. Yes several people try listen to my problems yet when I need to cry they don't understand. They don't know my history because they don't want to listen to anything depressing yet they wonder I am the way I am. My history is nothing but sad things, and as far as I can tell so is my future. No one understand my stubborness, no cares to try to understand. No one cares to ask why I refuse to listen to males. All who don't understand and don't care can go ******** yourselves.