Hello, my name is Emily, and I'm 16 years old.
There's only one thing I can say about myself with confidence—I hate myself. I'm worthless, useless, and have never brought any value to anyone's life. I've never made anyone happy, only caused trouble and pain. Whenever I made friends, they left me in less than a week. I'm not special at anything, nor am I fun to talk to. I'm nothing.
Even my birth wasn't a happy event. I was born into a rich and a large family with six older sisters. Everyone had hoped I would be a boy. My father and sisters all wanted a son, and I wasn't what they expected. Worse yet, my mother died shortly after giving birth to me. I became the reason everyone hated me.
My sisters lived happy lives while I was blamed for my mother's death. They pitied no one but themselves. Whenever I begged for food, they would sneer, "Disgusting. You should suffer more to understand what your mother went through when you killed her." I heard those words so many times they were burned into my mind.
They never sent me to an orphanage, knowing I might have a better life there. No, they wanted me to suffer. My father hit me constantly. He never showed me an ounce of love. And from a young age, until I was five, they will just leave me alone locked in a room for multiple days with no food or water, and they put in the room cameras just to see me suffering in front of them, and after I lose the ability to even walk cause of hunger, they would just take me out of the room and give me disgusting food, then after some days, they would just do the same thing, I can't describe these people anymore, the word "monsters" is not enough to describe them.
I tried to escape countless times but failed. Every time, I was punished in ways I can't even describe. But finally, after months of trying, I succeeded. I was six when I ran away from that hell. I had nowhere to belong, but I survived by doing whatever odd jobs I could find like being a maid for some creeps. Eventually, I managed to enroll in primary school as an orphan. But even there, I was bullied every day. It started small, but it grew worse as the years went by.
My grades? Average, at best. I graduated from middle school without much to show. Now, I'm in high school. But nothing has changed. My life remains the same—torment after torment.
I'm currently attending a public high school.
Today began like every other day. I woke up at 5 am in my tiny, filthy room. I went to my morning job, hoping to cover the rent for the cheapest room I could find. After finishing around 7 a.m., I headed to school, where I was greeted by the same group of people—not to say hello, but to make me clean their shoes after deliberately dirtying them. I have no strength to resist, so I do as they ask. I'm used to far worse.
In class, even the teachers bully me. Strangely enough, it's helped my grades. They mock me, but then they add a few points to my scores out of guilt, I assume. Humans are odd like that—they hurt
you, then feel bad, only to hurt you again. Disgusting creatures.
After school, my classmates make me their personal dog, walking me home. Then I go to my evening jobs, working until 3 a.m., before collapsing into bed. On holidays, I work 16-hour shifts. This has been my life for the last five years.
Sometimes I wonder why I still hold on to hope. I want to give up, but something deep inside tells me something good is coming. Yet that feeling has been with me for years, and nothing ever changes. Still, it keeps me from giving up entirely.
Today was no different. I woke up, worked, went to school, and endured the same humiliations—cleaning shoes, being spit on, and forced to eat chewed-up food. It's revolting, but even disgusting food is better than no food at all.
After school, Sarah, the worst of the bullies, ordered me to follow her to her house, crawling like a dog on my hands and knees. It wasn't rare for her to humiliate me like this, but this time, all the people who usually bullied me were with her. I knew something worse than usual was about to happen.
As we walked, Sarah turned down a secluded, one-way street where no one usually passed by. My stomach dropped, and I knew I was about to face something far more brutal than the torment endured at school. The moment we were out of sight, one of the bullies kicked me hard in the face, and Sarah immediately began recording it on her phone. Pain surged through me as I was beaten, kicked, and punched mercilessly.
After what felt like hours of abuse—physical, mental, and even sexual—they finally left, all except for Sarah. She stood over me, her eyes dark with cruelty, and said:
"You have hope, don't you? You think you can graduate high school, get a good job, and live happily ever after, right?" She laughed maniacally.
"Sorry, but I'm here to destroy that hope. I want to see the despair in your eyes," she continued, her voice dripping with malice.
Then she showed me a knife. I was too weak to move, too broken to even want to escape. All I wanted was for the pain and humiliation to end. Slowly, she came closer and began cutting one of my fingers—agonizingly slow. I screamed with all my might as she laughed, clearly enjoying my suffering. One by one, she cut off each of my fingers, savoring every moment.
"You still have hope, don't you?" she asked again, but I couldn't speak. I tried to answer her, but my voice failed me. It was as if I was trapped in my own body, unable to respond.
"Since you're not answering, I'll cut your tongue" she said, her voice filled with cold amusement. And with that, she sliced through my tongue. Oddly, I didn't even feel the pain anymore.
"Now, I can finally say you've lost hope. You've given up" she said. And she was right. I had given up. I felt the tears welling up, but even my body had stopped responding to my emotions. I was empty.
Sarah stood up, staring at me with that same twisted smile. "Well, I guess I'm done here. See you later—if you're still alive, that i," she said, her eyes glinting with dark satisfaction as she turned to walk away.
But then something caught my eye. A car was speeding down the street, heading straight for her. She didn't see it coming. In that moment, something inside me stirred. If I couldn't save myself, maybe I could save someone else—maybe I could be useful, even just once.
With every ounce of strength left in my broken body, I sprinted toward her. I pushed her, tried to move her out of the way, but it was too late. The car slammed into both of us. In an instant, everything went black.
And just like that, we were both gone.
I died before even getting the chance to be happy, I wish i felt happiness before dying. That was my only and last dream.
When the car hit me, everything went black. I felt like I was drifting into eternal sleep. But suddenly, I opened my eyes. I was crying, sobbing uncontrollably, though I didn't know why.
I stopped crying and looked around. A beautiful woman in her twenties was holding me in her arms. She looked exhausted but happy. I realized I had been reborn. The woman holding me was my new mother. Beside her stood a man, looking worried yet overjoyed. He was my father.
This is my second chance and, I swear, from this moment on, to live a happy life, I will live for myself not for people, I won't repeat the mistakes I already did, and I won't trust any human, all humans are just selfish creatures that use any possible way to get to their goal.