I jumped through the window my heart raced as I heard the footsteps get closer. When I hit the park I bolted only to find one of the goon squad. As I fell from the blow to the chest I wheezed trying to remember how to breath. Ringed Face stepped on my chest where I had been hit.

“well well well, look what we have here boys.” His goons appeared from the shadows around me. I squirmed trying to make a break for it, it didn’t work like usual. I could feel my face getting red and hot from lack of air and rage.

“Let go of me Weasel!” I hissed at Ringed Face as he looked down at me squirming. He pushed down on my chest harder.

“Look like we have a feisty one here boys,” He squats down his breath was awful as he got closer “no newcomer talks to me like that worm boy.”

I spit in his face, as he fumbles down I run fast towards my house not looking back. When I get home I slam the door and lock it quickly, they pound against the door screaming at me. Mother pokes her head around the corner.

“What’s going on?” Her eyes don’t show anything but concern with hints of confusion. I smile warmly.

“Nothing mama. Only a couple of jerks that think they can bully me.” I slicked me black hair back knowing she would like it better. She goes back into the kitchen as I slide off my shoes. I take off my leather jacket and sling it over my shoulder as I walk up to my room. I open the door as my brothers open, I toss my jacket on the small bed and sigh grabbing my knife. I play with the cool blade in my scarred hand I then throw it hard at my bedpost. My hair flies in my face as I yell loudly a growl escaping my lips, I know they can hear it but I don’t care he yells all the time. I slump down to the floor I cover my face with my hands the scars felt weird on my soft skin. I sigh grabbing my small mirror, as I peer into it I see a girl that I don’t recognize her eyes were soft and her lips perfect. I let tears fall down my face hitting the mirror making the girl look imperfect my long hair falls to the mirror in my lap. I break the mirror in pieces I grab a large piece of the glass and hold it in my hands opening the scars, I don’t cry out in pain or stop.