The world is cruel

Triggerwarning:

Child neglect, child abuse, substance abuse, suicide

That was the first thing I learned. I don't know how I got this information: Maybe it was when my father turned to nothing but a ghost; maybe it was when my mother became the person she never wanted to be.

It doesn't matter.

The world is cruel.

I already knew that, even when I didn't knew the word 'cruel' or how big the world is.

The thing I knew, even at the rip age of seven, was that no one deserved to be hit by their parents and that no one should be separated from said parents, even if they were as crucial as the world.

Because no matter how cruel the world or my parents were, to be left alone was even crueller.

The world is cruel.

Nothing ever changed that. The little yellow pills from the older boy just seem to let me forget that.

The world is cruel.

My peers are also cruel. They make fun of me for my bitten nails and my dirty clothes.

They always did, but they didn't know a thing. They didn't know anything about my life, didn't know what it is like to be separated from your parents and be brought back again and again and this never ending circle of pain and suffering.

At school they called me things. Hit me like my mother, insulted me like my father.

I didn't know what was worse.

The teachers did nothing. Wasn't part of their job, they said. Some wanted to do something, but were unable to change anything for me.

That's okay. It's not like I matter or something. I'm just a no one in a world full of no ones.

This one day, it was a Friday, was too much. They made me cry, what don't happen often. So it was definitely a achievement, what would be celebrated with insulting me with slurs, slurs I hated, slurs that reminded me of a past that should be buried anywhere where no one could find it.

I tried to ignore them.

It's not like they know anything about what is in my mind.

But soon they will. Soon, I won't be a no one anymore.

The world is cruel.

Okay, maybe this old Lady next door isn't as cruel as the rest. She smiled at me, gave me clothes, because mine were dirty all the time. I don't know her name and she doesn't know mine, but that doesn't matter.

"Peyton, dear, you look ill. Is everything alright?", she asked me. Peyton wasn't my name, but that's alright, isn't it? If she fills my heart with a Grandmother I never had, then I could fill her heart with a Peyton she once knew.

„Everything's fine, Grama."

She smiled and I smiled back. Maybe Grama wasn't part of the world.

The world is cruel.

Okay, maybe Ajal, the boy from the graveyard, isn't as cruel as the others. Others may call him freak, but they called me the same, so we're good, I guess.

" Why do you hang out with the dead?", I asked him once. He washed the graves with some sheddered cloth, never said a word and didn't want any help.

"I think, being dead is kind of lonely" he answered after a while. "It's like, leaving everything behind, right?"

I didn't answer.

Ajal Dawoud wasn't part of this world either: he was a freak, just like me. He always stayed silent, but in a world where everyone screamed wasn't that so bad.

The world is cruel.

And not just for me, also for Shalisha, the little girl from the playground. We have much in common. She is as old as I when I left my parents and her parents are as mine.

Shalisha always had a lot of questions. For some I knew a answer, for some I didn't.

There were always two questions, she asked me everytime. Two questions, that bothered her all the time:

1. Why is the sky blue?

To answer her, I went every Friday to the library and read many books. Before I met Shalisha, I never ever touched a book. What you don't do to see the childish joy.

2. What is your name?

This was much harder to answer. It should be an easy one. But I just couldn't remember. Nobody called me by my name anymore. I told her, that my new name Peyton is, but she wanted to know my old name. And I tried to remember.

Shalisha loved to use the swing. Her hazelnut brown hair used to fly around, when the scream of joy escaped her body.

"I want to be a bird, you know?", she once said when I went with her home. "To fly away from home."

Shalisha definitely wasn't part of the cruel world we're living in and my dearest dream was, that she never would found out, that her parents didn't just take medication against headaches.

But I'm sure she already knows this.

The world is cruel.

Ajal always tried to hide the grave he was cleaning. I never understood why.

"So...you hang out with the dead?", I asked.

He didn't answer.

The world is cruel.

I don't remember my death very well. Just the yellow pills, that made me feel better.

My eyes stared at the grave.

The world is cruel.

Charlotte Peyton Thomson

3.7.1952- 4.7.1969

Tears filled my eyes. I always thought to be at least 18. And never, not even in my worst nightmares, could I've imagine to have a middle name.

If Grama knew that I once was Peyton? Did she called me that way when I was alive? Or knew she another Peyton, that she never saw again?

At least I could finally answer Shalishas second question.

I guess she knew all the time what I was. Or what I wasn't.

The world is cruel.

So cruel, to let a teenager die. To let a teenager kill themself.

After I got my memory back, I had three questions I always asked myself:

If my teachers ever missed me?

I guess Mrs. Balser did, she liked me. Maybe also Mr. Allen, but just if I'm lucky.

My classmates called me teachers pet. If Mrs. Wakefield would grieve for me the same she did for her cat? I don't know.

If my classmates ever felt guilty?

Josie liked me. Same went for Christiane and Linda.

Maybe I would've kissed Joyce or Terry if I stayed just a little longer Charlotte Thomson. Maybe, I don't know. Peyton Dawoud certainly wouldn't.

I hope they don't feel guilty anymore. It's not that they knew anything.

If my parents even noticed?

I don't know. They didn't cared for my life, why would they for my death?

The world is cruel.