This is something else i had to do for my coursework in English, they're really strict so i haven't got a grade yet and my last two attempts weren't that good apparently. But i hope you guys enjoy it :)

"The Unsuccessful Life Mitchie Hope Torrez"

The agonising look of fear. The sound of her cries. The smell of blood. The face of pain. The sound of a television pounding through the walls. The ashy smell of a freshly burnt out fire. The feeling of despair and sorrow as I stared at the face of a tortured girl. I felt such a life was being wasted. Anger coursed through my veins, knowing that the decision she had made would be one she would deeply regret. This was not the strong minded girl I once knew. I gazed at the reflection in the mirror that hung carelessly on the grotty walls. I didn't recognise the girl lying there. Dull, lifeless and pale, like a ghost. A small, beaded tear fell down her cheek, my cheek. This was not me. Mitchie Hope Torrez.

As I lay limp on the cold, hard floor, my ocean blue eyes fell over the bedroom that surrounded me. The walls which were once painted bright purple, now felt black and dark, like a cave. A cold, damp cave. Trapping me in a deep hole, impossible to escape. The beautifully patterned bed sheets now felt bleak and grey, like everything felt in the world around me. The world through my eyes. Remembering when I first decorated the room, my lips twitched into a smile. Remembering how excited I became. Remembering how my mother even helped me to decorate. It still amazes me how excited I could become over the smallest of things. I missed that. I still do. Remembering the laughs, and the cries, my mother and I, we did everything together, we told each other everything. She was my best friend. Nothing's the same without her. I'm not a happy person anymore. There's too much pain inside of me to even try. Too many gaping holes that need to be filled with the things I desire the most. A mother. A father that wants me, one who appreciates me. Friends. Just one friend that can help to guide me in the right direction, to comfort me. Love. The one thing I know I will never receive, no matter how hard I try.

I remember looking back at the girl, her face like glass, you could see straight through to the pain that she was hiding. I realised now why she seemed so unrecognisable. Dark, black make up covered her crystal blue eyes. Black as the night that shone through the window. T

Thin like straw, her hair stuck to her sweat encrusted face. Jet black varnish covered her bitten, stub like nails. The baggy clothes that covered every inch of her chalk-like skin were black. Black. Black. Black.

I realised then that everything I wore was black. Without even realising, I had discarded every single piece of clothing that even omitted a slither of colour. Why black? Why this colour? Because it showed no personality. No Happiness. Empty, like a vase, like me. I wondered what made me become like this. Was it because my mother left me? But this made me question, why did she leave me? Why did she leave me with such a monster of a father? Why did he hate me so much? Right at that moment, I questioned my decision to try and end my life at such a young age as I lay on that cold, hard floor. Was it too soon? Was this the coward's way out? Had I made the wrong decision? But I couldn't change anything; it was too late, only time would tell if this was destined to happen.

If you're wondering what had led me to this unfortunate fate, I hardly know myself. I was never well liked, I was bullied everyday throughout school, and I had never done anything wrong, they were just mean girls that found it fun to make me feel like I was living my own personal hell. Maybe it was because my mother chose to neglect me. Or it was the fact that my father hated me, he always wanted boys and he never let me forget it. I'd walk in the living room every day after an agonising day at school. My beast of a father would sit there on his tatty, beaten up armchair, so amused watching a pointless television programme and laughing like a hyena, beer can in hand. He'd look in my direction and come out with a spontaneous insult like, "Why was a burdened with a daughter like you?" or "I never wanted a girl, you're such a disappointment." Well, I'm sure he'd be happy once I'm gone, he didn't have to put up with me anymore. Maybe I was just being a drama queen; but I didn't really care at that point. I could no longer handle the jibes, the name calling, and the hate that was thrown upon me. Walking down the halls at school, people would throw verbal insults at me such as, "Looking a bit on the chubby side today, Torrez", "Make sure you don't look in a mirror, Mitchie. It might break", "Nobody likes you, Torrez. How about you go curl up in a ball and die?" Well, if that's what they wanted, then that's exactly what I would do, as I lay here curled up in a ball, waiting to die…

Lying there, weak and colourless, I could feel myself drifting away, into a deep slumber. Into a place where I wouldn't be judged for who I am, or how I look. My eyes finally closed and I felt the darkness surround me, my plump lips were a cold blue as they parted, I gasped for my last breath. Breathing in the groggy air around me, BANG.

The door of my bedroom swung open banging against the wall; the old paint flaked onto the floor. Through the blurriness of my eyes I saw my large proportioned father pound into the room, stopping in his tracks as he saw his daughter surrounded my blood. I remember hearing him cursing under his breath; he kneeled beside me and wrapped his arms protectively around me. I could feel his salty tears drip onto my face. "What have you done, Mitchie?" He whispered. I felt confused. What had I done? I thought this was the best way to make everything better. Obviously I was wrong. I heard hushed tones coming from my father, the sobs that escaped his lips. 6 minutes. The time it took for the paramedics to burst through the door. 6 minutes. The time it took to load me into the ambulance, as I felt my father's hands clasped around my petite, bony ones. I heard the faint sound of the sirens; I found it hard to stay awake despite the urges from my father to keep my eyes open, drifting away slowly….

I found myself in a white room. White walls. White floors. White tables. Was this heaven? I wore a white robe that tied my hand to my sides, but revealed my deep, blistering scars. Then I realised where I was. This is the room that I'd wake up to everyday now, the room that would help me with my "problem". I hated it. People would poke their heads through the door, to see if I hadn't tried to hurt myself, tried to hang myself with the bed sheets or something stupid like bang my head so hard on the walls that I give myself a concussion. "Are you okay today?" They'd ask, and every time I would just nod and reply "I'm fine", quickly turning my face away to hide the obvious pain in my eyes. I would repeat this same routine every day when I was visited by my father or some long distance relative that had failed to stay in contact for the past 8 years. I sat up in the lumpy bed that gave me the worst night's sleep since I was 7 when I thought there was a monster under my bed; I stared at the mirror that had been stuck to the wall, put there to make me see the girl wasting away in front of it. She hadn't changed much from the last time I had seen her on that unsuccessful night. She still had that pale complexion, white as snow. The same dull lips opposed to the rosy red one's she once had. And her eyes still empty black holes that made her even more lifeless than she already was. She looked down at her body and stared at the scars that covered every inch of her skin. The scars will always be there, reminding her that she failed. The pain in her face shows she wants them to go away. But they won't. They will be there forever and always, to haunt her. Until the day she dies, nothing will change.

Gooood? Yes? No? Review? :)