hi, basically im going to post this story i wrote, its not fantastic because im not an excellent story writer or anything like that, but i just want you r opinions on it. its what ive used for my english coursework (yes im still at school, hence the reason the story isnt going to be that good) also ive noticed not many people seem to post stories or anything. this story actually started very different, as it was a way of writing my thoughts on George Bush. please let me know what you think of it. it also has no name. ------- I woke again to the sound of talking, not for the first time, and not for the last. It was the early morning bell that had actually woke me; something I am not always there to hear, as I had slept in for one of the first times at this place. This place, it’s a mental institute, but more for people with anger management problems. I had an odd dream, one with great significance to me, it was of my life, and what an eventful one I’ve had, but not the sort of events that you want to remember. When I was a child, a young child of only eleven, my dad left my mum and me. It was the worst thing that could have happened to me, and it hurt me, but then it stopped hurting, that was when I realised that he didn’t care about me so why should I care about him. I had loved him at one time, the time that he taught me how to play guitar, the time that he had played football with him, the time he had loved me. Dad leaving caused many problems at home, mainly the fact that mum was a wreck. She became less aware, less caring. She became very scared, and then I found out why. It had only been a few months after he had left when I found a bag with white powder in, and then syringes, and I knew what it was. It was drugs. The one thing she had told me never to get involved in. My life at home affected my life at school, and a gifted youngster who had never been in trouble once became a disturbed and troublesome child. I started hanging around with the wrong people and getting in trouble, then missing lessons. After this my education was bad, and I knew that school was no longer for me. The clever child who was never in trouble had become a stupid kid who was always in a detention, no matter what the day was. I did get one good experience I got from school was my friends, Mike and Trevor. We went everywhere together and we all decided to drop out of school as soon as we possibly could. It may have been the worst mistake of my life but it happened and I cant control my past know. I thought I could cope with looking after my mum, but who was I kidding, my mum was so addicted that no matter what I did to her she would most probably end up dead soon, unless she ran out of money. I had looked after her for a few weeks, but I couldn’t anymore, I was only 15 so I decided to leave. Leave home, leave my mum, leave all my worries behind in that house and start again fresh. I woke up on the morning of the 26th October 1987. I wrote a note that told my mum that I loved her and I was sorry for all the pain I had caused her, and then I left. I just walked right out of the door. I had arranged to meet Mike and Trevor at the end of my road, so that I could start my life again, start it fresh with the people that I care most about, my best friends. We went into the inner city where all the homeless people lived. We were to become just another homeless person, the people everyone hated. The street where so much happened, yet so little was said about it. I soon found that it was not the life I had expected, but I had started something that I would not fail, I promised that much to myself, to not fail at least one thing in my life. After a few days we were just settling in to life on the streets of Chicago when I met a man called Jimmy. He was only a few days older than us but he had much experience on the streets. Jimmy showed us how to survive on the street, giving us useful information like who would give us money, where to go for cheap food and what to do in certain situations. He seemed very relaxed and open, yet lonely. I soon found out he was mentally ill, but I still don’t know what it was. After a few days I found that he was also a drug addict, the one thing I thought would make his illness worse he was doing. He claimed that the drugs helped his illness but I could see him deteriorating every time he had some more. The problem was with a friend taking drugs it wasn’t long before I found that I was trying the drugs, even though I had vowed that I would never touch them I was soon addicted. The slow feeling of my brain becoming empty of all my worries, finally being able to enjoy myself on the street. I still remember the first time I took them, it was a warm night. I was with Jimmy when he gave them to me, but then he left. I was alone and confused, as well as being lost. Then I took the drugs, suddenly all the buildings were towering over me, the ground spinning beneath my dirty feet, the sky turning from a nice red sunset into a nightmare of clowns and other odd things. I remember stumbling down the busy road, but then the only thing I can remember is me being back with Mike and Trevor, as if nothing had happened at all. It was about midday on the 17th December when I received a message, a strange man I didn’t know gave it to me and said it was from Jimmy. I opened the crinkled envelope to find a hand written letter, with the words barely legible. I read it, and I what I found shocked me. It was the worst moment I had experienced while on the streets, and that was saying something. The first thing the message said was goodbye, and that sent cold shivers down my back, then it went on to say that Jimmy was going to commit suicide if he didn’t get help and to meet him as soon as possible at the normal place on the pier. I was in a moment of shock after this, but I knew that one of the only people I could trust was in a crisis and I needed to help. I got to the pier very quickly; by this time it must have been about 1pm. I saw him at the other end of the abandoned pier standing there, motionless. I waved, and then he moved, he responded to me. He waved, but not how I would have wanted him to, it was not a welcome wave, but a goodbye wave. Then he suddenly pulled out the small handgun, I panicked, I had never been in this situation and I didn’t want to be in it now. I started running, screaming to Jimmy to stop, I ran as fast as I ever have in my whole life. Then the sound of the bullet shooting down the metal tubes and penetrating skin echoed the empty pier. I stopped, at first in denial, but then I ran towards him again, just to check that what I saw had really happened, but again I stopped and then approached slowly. I didn’t know what to find, could it be a bloody mess or a tidy wound. When I got to him it was a mess, there was blood everywhere, then it was all over me, and I started to panic. My heart beating faster than it ever has, pounding from me like a runner out of his staring blocks. It wasn’t long before I was confused and dizzy. I fell over and then the next thing I could remember was the police arriving. At first I thought that the police were going to blame me for the death of Jimmy, but then they found the apparent signs of a suicide, and they didn’t suspect me for a minute longer. I found a note, a message from Jimmy that was to me. I read it, but what I saw shocked me. It said that this life isn’t what I think it is and that I should go home, get help and go home. After this I left, I went back to my friends and told them what had happened. The next day we booked into see a psychiatrist. I still remember the address for that place, 1420 East 12th Street. The place where my life changed, the place I have the most regrets. I went to see a man, a tall man for my drug addiction and to get everything off my chest. I started talking to him like a friend, but then it turned into hatred, I didn’t like the way he was talking to me, and I ended up hitting him. After this I got my help, but not in the way I would have hoped for, at that was to be the biggest mistake of this dreadful journey that I had made. I ended up in a mental institute, where I was put into a large room with padded doors, where I wore a straight jacket, all because I lost my temper one to many times. I was in that room for a good few weeks, and in those weeks I realized that this whole life I was living was pointless and I should of just stayed at home, it would have been so different I had of stayed at home. After a while they let me out, but only to the large dormitories and the large communal rooms, where people who weren’t like me surrounded me. They seemed weird, I mean, I was normal, wasn’t I. At least I thought I was, but now I am not to sure. So here I am, a life of misery in this mental institute, you see they wont let me out, they say I would be a danger to the community but I disagree. I am going to have a life of seeing the same people, day after day, not having a love life, not even having the freedom to work, or choose what I am going to eat for dinner that night, but this is the life I have lived for the last few months, and it will be the life I live for the rest of my life.