The small bedroom was dressed in darkness. Curtains were permanently closed and clothing was strewn across the floor. An unmade double bed sat in a corner with a small brown table next to it. Perched upon the table were school books, pens and a tiny framed photo. Across from the bed was a black desk and chair, both scattered with books and screwed up balls of paper. Right next to the desk was a wardrobe that was practically empty. It seemed like a bomb had been dropped in the room the way it looked, obviously this was a teenager's haven.

The door to the room creaked open and an average sized male of about seventeen slipped through, swiftly closing the door behind him. He cleared his throat and brushed his brunette fringe out of his eyes as he made his way to the desk, dropping his school bag next to it. A black sweatshirt and faded grey jeans clung to him, his sneakers silent on the covered floor. He reached for the seat and tipped it, making what was on it slide off onto the floor. He slowly sat down and leaned his elbows on the messy desk, resting his head in his hands. He looked down at a random book with his name, Josh Anderson, scrawled across the top. A minute later a bang on the door made him jump and his heart rate sped up for a few seconds. A cold and  hard voice spoke, "Boy, you get out here and do your chores. I'm going to the store." The quiet thud thud of footsteps faded and the front door to the house opened and closed. A car started and reversed out of the drive then sped away.

The teen let out a sigh of relief. After a moment he stood and left his room, walking down the stairs to the kitchen. He put a plug in the sink and filled it with hot soapy water. He got to work cleaning the mound of dishes that sat to his right. There were always so many dishes yet it were only him and his step-dad who lived in the house. After about twenty-five minutes of washing, drying and putting away the dishes, it was time to hang up the laundry. He trudged back up the stairs to the laundry room and opened the washing machine, pulling out the damp clothes and placing them in a basket. He carried the full basket down the hallway to the back door which led to the garden. It was a very dead, overgrown-looking garden with weeds that had sucked the life out of the once pretty flowers. His mother was the one who would tend the garden and keep it looking nice. He strode to the washing line a few meters away and starting hanging the clothes to dry.

It wasn't long before he was back in the house with the vacuum cleaner, moving around each room. He moved slowly, there really was no rush. He had nothing else to do with his time, besides homework. Which reminded him that he needed to catch up in math. He stared at the floor, lost in thought as he cleaned. He finished and put the vacuum away just as his step-dad walked through the front door, a box of beer at his side. The teen lowered his head and turned to jog up the stairs but was stopped by his step-dad, Dan. "You finished your chores?" The cold voice asked as he strode towards the smaller male, his breath stinking of alcohol. Josh simply nodded, anxious to get back to his room. "Good." Dan replied, reaching out and slapping Josh on the shoulder before walking into the living room. The teen flinched and stood frozen with fear before he too left, back to his room. "Keep your door closed, no one needs to see that mess." His step-dad called and Josh obeyed, shutting it behind him.

Josh sat at his desk again with his math book, trying to work out the answers to questions he hadn't even learnt yet. Frustrated, he thumped his fist against the desk and shook slightly. He glared at the haze over his homework and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. Why did he have to be so behind? He thought, getting angry with himself. Did he really need so much time off when his mom was finally gone? He opened his eyes and turned, looking at the small framed photo on the table next to his bed. In the photo were two people, him and his mom when he was around eight years old. Most of his memories were of taking care of his sick mom, he never really had a childhood. His mother, Marie, had been diagnosed with bone cancer when Josh was just three. He'd grown up taking care of his mom while his step-dad had spent most of the time drinking at a local bar. Dan brings it home more often these days, drunk most of the time.

Josh shook his head and stood, walking to his bed. He collapsed onto it and stared up at the ceiling, "Why me?" He asked aloud to no one in particular. Suddenly there was banging on the door before it swung open, revealing a drunk-looking Dan with a half empty bottle of beer in his hand. Josh sat up, knowing what was coming. This had happened many times before, almost every night. His step-dad staggered towards him, mumbling to himself before taking a swing at the teen. His fist collided with Josh's head making him fall to the floor. He curled into a ball as Dan took another swing and another. By the time he was finished, Josh had his fair share of bruises. Dan stumbled out of the room like nothing had happened, because to him it was nothing.

The teen lay a mess on the floor, tears flowing from his brown eyes. He didn't move for a while, afraid that his step-dad would be back. Soon though, Josh sat up, still hugging himself. He sniffed and tried to stop the tears, but it wouldn't work this time. His arms hurt from trying to defend himself and he felt the start of a headache. He was going to be in more pain tomorrow, he knew.

Finally the tears stopped and his hurt was replaced by anger. He was angry at his step-dad, angry at himself and angry at his dead mother. He reached his arm under the mattress on his bed and pulled out a journal. He picked up a pen that was on the floor and opened the book to a fresh page. He scribbled something down, digging the pen into the page.

When he finished, he sat the book next to him and reached for something on the bedside table. The cool metal felt right in his hand as he brought it to him. The tiny blade was his only real friend, he thought. He leaned back against the side of his bed and looked around the room. He couldn't take it anymore. "So long, world. You never really did want me." He spoke softly and pulled up his left hoodie sleeve where multiple old scars were visible. He put the sharp piece of metal to his wrist and felt the sensation he knew so well. He repeated this, getting deeper each time. Crimson red seemed to flow from his arm without hesitation.

His vision began to blur and he knew it would soon be over for him. He recited the last entry in his journal like it were his motto until he were almost gone, "Never good enough, waste of space and time, a true hopeless mess." The last thing that went through his mind before he passed on was one good memory. The only time he'd ever smiled was on his sixth birthday when his mom had given him the newest action figure that all the boys wanted. His 'family' had never had a lot of money and his mother had surprised him by getting that toy. He never forgot that moment.

Dark took over his vision and then there was nothing. No more pain.