James

James was seventeen. He sat on his bed, his face in his hands. Why did everything have to be so damn hard! Every day was the same. Wake up, get dressed, go to school… He thought over the previous day, the endless taunting. “Oi! You! Fag! Get over here!” Every jeer left him feeling worthless. Goddammit! What was wrong with him! Aaaaagh! He was sick of it. Sick of everything. He threw on a blue-ish grey cotton T-shirt, and his favourite pair of black skinny jeans, then headed downstairs. In the early morning quiet, he was alone with his thoughts. He felt confused, whirling out of control, yet strangely calm. He pushed his dark brown hair out of his face and sighed. He needed to get out, he needed to escape.