Appearance

   Growing up, we never seemed to care what people think of us. But as we enter the harsh reality of school, we realize how much appearance matters. 
   The first couple of weeks of high school were the hardest for me, whenever I walked down the hallway, I could see the stares of the other students. Whispers of 'fat' passed through their lips. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror I was unhappy. This is not what I wanted. This was not who I wanted to be. I was fat. 
   At dinner I would tell my mom that I was not hungry because I just couldn't eat something so damaging to my body anymore. My parents never understood or even realized how unhappy I was during high school, because I never told them.

Slime

   What a bunch of idiots. They told mum that it was an accident. Ya, because you can just accidentally dump a bucket of slime on someone. Why would my brothers do this to me? So I had gotten them into trouble, big deal. I should have known this was coming; they had refused to tease me for weeks. They must have been leading up to this, creating their revenge.
   The slime dripped through my hair and my clothes. This would take forever to rinse out. First, they locked me in a cabinet and now this. I took a deep breath to calm myself. I was going to get them back; I just needed to know how.

The Incident

Did I feel bad for accidentally trapping my sister in the wall? Not particularly; let me explain. 
    My sister is a witch and all she does is talk about Hogwarts, it gets quite annoying at times. When I was on the platform, waiting for her to come through, I started to explore. I had spied something in the corner, it was a lever. Being me, I pulled it; it did not do anything. Until, I heard a scream. Turning around I saw that I had closed off the way onto the platform, just as my sister was walking through. It gave her a good scare; enough to get her to stop talking about Hogwarts. 

Wrong

      My sister was worried he would not show up, but she was the only one. My mum was in the kitchen, cooking my dad’s favourite meal. I was sitting at the counter, glancing at the door every few minutes. Knowing he would come, come back home. My brother was clutching our beautiful, brown camera, ready to take pictures of him when he returned. 
    Lying in bed, I cried. The news had hit me hard; dad was gone. He had been diagnosed with cancer four years ago and he was supposed to come home from the hospital today. The doctors were sure about that, but they were wrong. Wrong about everything.

The Message

My parents never gave me any attention. They were rich and that was all they cared about. What did it matter to them if I refused to do anything? Nothing, I tried to get their attention by doing all sorts of things. It never worked.

     Finally, I broke, I was tired of being ignored. I bought all the supplies I needed, plaster, paint, molds; all for a sculpture that provided a message, my message.

     The molds were set and the plaster was dry, my piece was almost ready to be buried ‘underneath’ the tree. The tree was supposed to be cut down, a beautiful oak tree, but I am stopping it.