Hope

I hate to go back in time in my mind; to see it all happen again, to replay it, but it happens. Happy music jollying the car along, as we wound around the country bends, singing along. I felt so loved; they always did everything for me that they could. Then, as we sped around a blind corner, we didn't see the other car until we collided. Dad was slumped over the dash, blood pouring from his nose, and mum had a gash on her forehead. I was sitting behind mum in a shock. My seatbelt had strained to its limit and pulled me back to my seat. I suffered from whiplash. I was wearing a neck brace at the funeral. I couldn't even slump to hide my tears.

I think of them a lot. More so now than ever. I have nothing to do in the day that I want to... so I think about them as I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing. They're forever on my mind as I stand at the sink for hours each day, first doing all the washing up, and then washing all the clothes in the house but mine. I'm not allowed to wash my own clothes. I'm not allowed to use the washing machine either. It seems like I have to do everything myself, as painstakingly as possible. As punishment, but I don't know what I did wrong.

They say it was my fault they died. They punish me for being a rude, naughty and uncaring boy. I sang too loudly. If I hadn't asked to go to the seaside that day... They punish me for speaking back at them, but I gave that up a year ago, because they don't like it. I gave up going to school because they were too busy to do all the housework. I've never found out what they do during the day. They only tell me what to do. I spend all day hoping my parents would come back to life, that they just went on a long holiday, and they're coming back. Wishing they hadn't died. We never got to the seaside. We may as well have stayed at home. I was going to have a baby brother. The doctors said he died soon after my mother died. They couldn't get him out in time. But I'm glad he didn't get out in time; he wouldn't have had a very good time with our aunt and uncle.

I heard from a little boy today. His name is Jon; he was in the other car with his parents and sister. His parents didn't die, but his mum is paralysed from the neck down and his dad is still in a coma. The police ever blamed anyone for the crash. Jon and his sister Megan have had to go into care. He says they're really nice, and he and his sister have their own rooms, and get to see their mum and dad in hospital often. One bad thing though is that two years in a coma isn't looking good for his dad. They're thinking of turning it off next week if he doesn't make progress. They've held on this long...

I'm writing him a letter back. I have to get out and post it before my aunt and uncle get back, or they will punish me. I was up really early, so when I saw my name on the envelope, I hid it. They don't like me getting post. They don't even know I spend time writing and reading so I don't forget. I'll have to sneak out of the house through the back window, they lock the doors so I can't get out, but the windows are left open. It's quite a steep drop, but I've mastered a way of getting in and out. I hope they don't catch me. This boy seems really nice.

I managed to post it. By the time I got back in the house again, my heart was beating so hard from the fear of getting caught that I thought I'd pass out. I didn't finish all the housework I was meant to. So I got punished. They hit me on my back, chest and legs more times than I can remember and it hurts. But at least they didn't find out about the letter. Jon and I managed to send a few letters to each other. He and his sister had been moved to a new school as there was no one close to where they lived who could take care of them. I told him all about my aunt and uncle, and them hitting me, because he was someone I could finally tell about them.

One day, I overslept as I was working hard until nearly two in the morning, threatened with being hit if I didn't finish it, and missed the post, still asleep, when it arrived at eight o'clock as it usually did. There was a letter from Jon, I found out, being woken up by my uncle shortly after. He wasn't gentle. As he dragged me out of bed, I was struggling to wake up, and before I knew it, I was in the bath with the cold tap on and the water creeping higher and higher. I was told harshly never to speak to anyone without their permission, to obey them always. Then they left, and I was left in the bath so cold I couldn't even shiver. I was finding it harder and harder to draw in each breath, and hard to take in what was happening around me. It all went gradually. I didn't even feel my body being lifted from the water, or realise I was in an ambulance until I heard voices and opened my eyes to a clearing haze. Three strangers stood around my bed, and the people, noticing I'd opened my eyes came in closer.

"I'm Jon," one of the people said, and smiled reassuringly at me.

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