Faith Camp

United States

Hey! My name is Faith and I'm 16. Writing has been my passion since I was 8, and I hope you guys enjoy the stories I publish (:

Message to Readers

Just a random idea I came up with. I'm not sure if I'll do anything else with it, so tell me what you think and what could be improved :)

Around Here

August 21, 2018



My father never told me about the real world. He never wanted me to know about the violence, the hatred, the never-ending blanket of despair that enslaved the city. He only told me about the good things, which rarely came up. When they did, people held onto them forever and clung to them like life support. Hope was a hard thing to find where we lived. I had to find out about the negative side of living on my own.
The heater broke again last night. My face still presents the fresh bruise from school, and half the food in the apartment is gone. But Dad’s still smiling.
“Did you see the paper?” he asks, sliding into the chair across from mine. “Your football team won last night.”
“Yeah. Pretty cool, huh?” I stir my spoon in the lumpy oatmeal. I’ve never had the heart to tell him half of them are junkies and the coach cheats his way through playoffs. As far as Dad lets himself know, they’re a good group of kids who just want to play ball. Some of them are a little off, but it’s probably just their personalities.
 The high school was the lucky winner of being one huge downward spiral. Drug dealers are common, pregnancies aren’t shocking, and teachers skip school more than the students. Dad knows, but we don’t talk about it. I know where my place is, and it only gets me beat up occasionally. Quiet ones are targets. Loud mouths are a hit or miss. Somewhere in the middle is where you can disappear, but those kids don’t always last long. Either they move away or remove themselves permanently from all the things they’ve seen. Suicide is a monthly headline, but there’s not enough funding for any more guidance counselors. None want to come here anyway. I don’t blame them.
Being quiet is risky, so I’ve forced myself to be talkative and run my mouth. I’ve made more enemies than friends from that, but no one wants to be buddies with anyone. We all know we’ll just wind up in trouble, so other than the jerks and pretty girls, we make sure to stay out of each other’s way. If we don’t, fights happen.
Fighting is a false sense of comfort for most – it shows dominance and you won’t be messed with for a while. If someone tries to cross you, you just show them a scar and they back off. We don’t want to hurt each other, but it’s the only way we’ll survive. If you get lost in the crowd, you die, and if you don’t, you’re killed. There’s no easy way out, so violence has become a remedy.


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  • August 21, 2018 - 9:57am (Now Viewing)

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    I agree with Starchild & RainAndSonder; this is a great piece so please please write more? :)

    over 2 years ago
  • Doktor Habit

    YO i love the concept of this
    i get a huge dystopian vibe from it, PLEASE write more :0!!!

    over 2 years ago
  • rainandsonder

    Wow. I honestly don’t have words. This is such a melancholy and dark piece, feels a bit dystopian, even. I love it!

    over 2 years ago