I’ve had a pretty rough life. From the time I was born I could tell I was unwanted. My mom and dad went to work and left me with the baby sitter day after day. They’d just come home, not even glance at me, and go to sleep. I didn’t mind that though. As long as my parents were asleep they weren’t fighting. Their fights were bad. They would yell, scream, kick, and fight. It was awful. I can remember countless nights where I would hide under my bed behind my box of hotwheels praying to whatever god existed that they would just stop fighting. That was the early times of my life. As I grew up things only got worse. They stopped caring if i was in the room when they fought. I was only in 4th grade when I saw my dad hit my mom for the first time. She was complaining about how he spends too much money on booze. The drunken idiot thought the most intelligent rebuttal would be to back hand her so hard that she laid on the ground for the next 15 minutes. School didn’t help much either. Instead of a place to get away from it all, it was only a place for more pain. I was always the outcast at recess, i was never invited to play kickball or anything like that. Everyday I would run to the back right of the grass field and hide in the thicket of small tress. Back there no one judged me, no one could be mean to me. Sadly there is no recess in the later years of school which means no escape. Things at home didn’t change at all, well except for the fact my dad started hitting me as well as my mother. And of course kids never change. If it was for my hair, my shoes, or even the way I talked, they would make fun of me. I just used all my time and effort in science class. I loved science, it was like an art. Making and discovering new things was amazing. Time when on and I finally got to high school. It was at this time I decided to take culinary as a hobby to go with my science. I was amazing in the kitchen, it just felt right to be in front of the stove. My teacher was extremely helpful too. She always came to talk to me when she saw me behind the pantry crying. I’d tell her how things at home where at their all time worst with my dad. There was no more calming him during his drunken rages anymore. Mrs. Jones would pat my back and tell me everything would be alright. Over the years the combination of my complete dedication to culinary and my love for science, I became a master chef. It was my Jr. year and my cooking was so good that Mrs. Jones convinced the principal to let me have my own little restaurant during lunch. This made all the popular kids jealous and just bully me more, they were relentless. But one was more cruel than them all, his name is Sheldon. Sheldon was one of the most popular kids in the school. Everyone loved him, he had perfect grades, he was athletic, and he was almost as good as a chef as me. But thanks to my love for science, I had experimented so much with food that I found the perfect ingredient to add to every dish. Sheldon hated me for being better than him. Every day he would assault me, both physically and mentally. He would call me names, shove me into the stove, and throw pepper in my face. He was awful. He told me he would never stop unless I told him how I made my food so good. But I would never tell, i could never tell. This all I had left in my miserable life. After a year of him assaulting me, he finally had enough of my stubbornness. He grabbed his best friend and jumped me the day before winter break. They said if I didn’t tell them the secret they would lock me in the freezer to die over winter break. No one would be at the school, the last period of culinary had just let out, no one would know. Little did they know, with life at home worse than I ever thought possible due to the divorce and I wanted to die. They kicked the ever loving shit out of me and closed the door. I’ve been here for about an hour now. I can feel myself getting more tired, slowly getting weaker and weaker. Death coming ever nearer. I could use my phone to call for help, but what’s the point. I want to die, my life isn’t worth anything. It isn’t going anywhere. So I sit here and wait for my death with happiness. I consider this a suicide since I could get out at anytime, but the knowledge of my worthless existence keeps me from saving myself. I can finally die, peacefully. I can still remember the last words of those two.

It was Sheldon J. and Peter Poni Pepperoni screaming

Ravioli ravioli, give me the formuoli.