Book

I’ve been writing a book for about a year here’s an excerpt from it.

I felt, once again, that my heart had been ripped out of my chest and torn into shreds. I wish i could explain the way i feel, all the pain and sadness; I don’t know what to do. I’m confused, why do I have to be put through this? I wish I could be normal and be able to do whatever Outsiders do, it’s got to be better than being in here. Normal on the Inside is to be wary of everybody, even your roommate of three years because they could snap at any given moment, and anyone be the victim of assault. You always have to watch who you look at, what you do, what you say.

So my question is, why me? Why did everything go wrong? Why did my mother have to die and throw her children into a place where we wish to die sometimes because we’re so scared of the Board’s next move? Why me? Why us?

i relate to what i write most of the time, and even though i can’t say how i feel usually, i can write something in my book and get other people to read it, and them not even recognize the difference between my real thoughts and that of the character.