Lost in the sea

There is no easy way to explain the feelings that I, Sylvia Cromwell, am feeling.

There is no easy way to ignore the feelings that I, Sylvia Cromwell, am feeling.

There is no easy way to escape the boy that I, Sylvia Cromwell, have fell in love with.

There is no easy way to say goodbye to the boy that I, Sylvia Cromwell, have fell in love with.

There is an easy way to say goodbye to this mad world that I, Sylvia Cromwell, am living in.

Welcome to my life, my generation, where kids are sad, and have nothing, but fake smiles.


2. This mad world

It was a rainy day in May of 1996, London, England, and the whole house was silenced. My older sister, who was 6 years old at that time,  was just sitting on the crook of the window, watching the droplets of water, fall and race down to the edge of the window as the wind blew past through them. My mother was cooking supper, and my father was in his office, working on who knows what. It was a peaceful day really, until my father heard a bloody scream, coming from the kitchen. He rushed to my mother and hurriedly, picked her up and settle her in the car. He scooped my sister onto his arms and buckled her in her tiny car seat. He stepped on the foot of the car and drove to the nearest hospital. He viciously tried to stop the car as it was going to collide with another, but it did not work. One was by the edge of a cliff and another was smashed into a tree. The ambulance came and tried to save my mother, yet it did not work. My father was crying as he clenched my mother's hand. They could only save the infant. My older sister have been saved, with only a wounded, broken arm. My father sobbed and sobbed and held me against him, hugging me and never letting me go. Sadly, the nurse had taken me away to be cleaned and took care of until I could get out of the hospital.


By the year of 2000, I was at the age of 4. I sat in the living room watching my favorite TV show, Spongebob Squarepants. Even though I did not understand what it was, I still enjoyed it. My father was in depression, and the only person that have looked after me and my older sister, Geneva, was my Aunt Theresa. My aunt Theresa was an abusive person. I remembered when she used to beat my sister badly, for spilling chocolate pudding on her white shirt. My dad would see her beating us yet he would not do anything about it. Aunt Theresa would scream at me, but she didn't hurt me, I was still 4. 


It was 2009 and I was 13 years old. I was a young lady, with bruises on my body, scars on my damned wrists, and tears on my face. Geneva, my sister, have moved out when I was 10. I was all alone, and I had no one to be there for me. People in Junior High would bully me, and nobody would talk to me. My aunt Theresa was a really violent person, and she had married my dad when I was 6. I did not understand how my father fell in love with my mother's sister, but I went along with it. When they got married, I had thought to myself, maybe people accept the love they think the deserve, and that is why my father married her. Because he thought he had deserved to be love, by someone that looks like my mother. Someone beautiful. My aunt Theresa was beautiful, but only in the outside, never in the inside.


Now, it's 2013 and I am living my seventeenth year. I despised living in this generation. I think that I was born in the wrong one. Society judged you by your face, your clothes. Society judged you from the outside, not in the inside. Kids are already getting pregnant by the age of 13. People have nothing but fake smiles, and scars on their arms, legs, and stomachs. Lies and broken promises have been told. This was a very mad world, and there is no easy way to escape it. Or so I thought.

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