Outside    by Miss K. Hurt

    I don’t even know why I’m writing this, maybe to spend some time just
typing, or it might be the fact that someone might actually read it. Its funny
really, the length people will go to, just to be noticed, even just to be listened
to. I know all about that. Surprised? I’m not. Many of you who are still reading
will be wondering where this is going. To be honest so am I. I think I just wanted
to put down my thoughts whilst everything is so clear in my mind. Reading the
things other people have submitted, I feel jealous, confused. Will I ever be that
good? I wonder how they did that? How could I make people that cold/ angry/
sad/ happy?
    I’m only 15. Silly age really, wondering how on earth I am going to convince my
parents I am old enough to have rights, let alone privileges. Teachers at school are
suddenly slapping us in the face with how long we have left of "compulsory education"
and how we should be grown-ups. I can’t believe that they don’t think we know how
old we are. It’s completely ridiculous.
    I mean, how on earth are we supposed to act like adults if the adults in the world
can’t treat each other like adults?
    I wonder sometimes about how stupid the human race can be. Take the poem:
"The charge of the light brigade" for example. Yes, some guy told them to run towards
their doom, and they did. Six hundred soldiers went in, needless to say that not all of
them came out again.
    Things that suck: War and Puberty.
    I know we need to understand our bodies blah, blah, blah, - but for god’s sake, why
at the most important time in our lives? Why can’t we decide what we want to do in life
after the pointless drudgery of adolescence?
    We act as if we know the world. Perhaps some more than others do yes, but these
individuals are of the condensed few, most of them facing the harsh realities of what life
can bring.
    I feel sorry for victims of child abuse. Yes, perhaps they have heard enough pity, but
when we turn away and neglect these problems in society, they become all the more real.
    American readers may not know the horrors lurking behind English cell doors. One of
these ‘people’ died the other day, her last words echoing that of her third victim, a 15 year
old girl: "I want my mummy". These were the words of a dying woman. Convicted of aiding
the homicidal maniac, (her husband) kill five young girls and boys, no older than myself.
    The seriousness of this would not have even impacted my life a few years ago. Thankfully,
I have matured enough to realize that it could have been someone I care about or even me.
I presumed I was safe from all of it because my parents are good and kind and loving. I’m
one of the lucky ones; I haven’t been taken yet.
    Walking down a well-worn street at 4:30 tonight was enough to make me more aware
of my surroundings. There was a killing not far from that spot a few weeks ago. Again, I was
too immature to not realize that it could have just as easily been me. It was foggy, and even
though I had two good friends with me, it couldn’t stop me from feeling uneasy.
    Down the same street, the extent of how I felt when a rival school pushed one of my friends
up against a wall and kicked her in the back was unmeasurable. The same school also attacked
my brother. He had a bruise on his rib cage when the doctor looked at his X-ray. Still, it didn’t
hit me how much danger I could be in by just crossing my threshold. The heavy lock protects
me from the outside world as long as it can hold.
    What happens when the lock breaks?
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