Sleep. Sleep is one of my escapes from my grueling reality. But sleep and I aren’t on great terms, so of course I do not get enough of the sweet dark bliss. No, my life is too much of a mess for that. If you could think of all the worst things to happen to a person, it has probably happened to me. I have countless stories to tell and no one to talk to. But in sleep I don't have to talk to anyone. In sleep, my problems are only there if I let them.

I slowly open my eyes and let them adjust to the dim lit room, while reaching for my book that I fell asleep reading last night. Reading is also part of my long list of escapes. When I read my mind can block out practically everything.

When I bring the book back up to my bed I stop mid way to check the time. My old digital clock reads 5:15 A.M. Hmm, at least I slept for about five hours this time; I usually get less.

Reaching over my clock to turn the lamp on, I catch a glimpse of my wrist and arm. Staring at the old scars that litter my forearm, I grind my teeth and quickly turn the lamp on and sit back in bed with an annoyed huff.

It's not like any of them are fresh, in fact I have not even thought of harming myself for about two and a half years now. I guess I just became bored of the thought of 'slicing' myself up. It's not like I ever felt the pain that came with it anyways, I haven't really felt any sort of emotion since I was twelve. To save the whole sob story for another time, I'll make it short. When I was in middle school my mother had gotten in a severe car accident and passed away, leaving me with no one but my dad. We used to be a loving family, with occasional camping trips, movie nights, and bright Christmases. Now our small 'family' of two consist of silence (mostly because I haven't talked to anyone in almost three years), financial struggles, and a father who can't let go of the past. So, I don't harm myself anymore, no. But I have replaced one extreme with another, less threatening, one. I simply don't talk.

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Adjusting myself until I'm sat upright, I then open my current read, The Great Gatsby and try to find where I left off. As I am getting to a fairly interesting part, a knock on my tightly shut door startles me.

"Wonwoo. I'm heading to the shop now." Silence, then a sigh. "Look. I'm sorry we had to move on such short notice, but you know I had no choice for work..." It's so quiet, I could probably hear my father breathe if I listen carefully. "Your school schedules are on the dinning table, so please don't forget them." Not like I could possibly miss the huge stack of papers. "I'll see you when I get home tonight okay?"...another sigh. "I love you." Then I hear the soles of my father's shoes click, as he walks to the front door. The sound of the door shutting and being locked, is the signal for me to finally get up.