Have you ever heard of the phrase don’t judge a book by its cover or sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me? Did you think that facing up to bullies helped to make it better? Or perhaps it helped you once. I was brought up with little money most of my life. I had an unaffectionate drunken mother and a father who worked like a dog all of the days under the sun to bring in money to pay the bills. Then, when I was five and about to start school and education for the very first time, my mother took me out and left me screaming outside the entrance to London Marylebone Station, with no money and no identification other than my name tag. I was dressed in a big blue duffle coat, plimsolls and a nappy, as I still hadn’t been toilet trained. After hours of businessmen dressed in navy blue and black suits streaming past and ignoring my screams I became tired and cold so curled up on the floor and waited for my mother to come and collect me from the hard and cold ground. Eventually a lovely looking woman wearing floral trousers and a top with a word I couldn’t read on the front came up to me and asked me if I was all right. I clung onto her and she picked me up and inspected the name tag my mother had pinned onto my coat she said clearly “Elisa Walsh? What a pretty name!” I simply smiled at her in thanks and snuggled into her warm grasp and fell asleep.
Hello, my name is Elisa Walsh and I am currently fifteen years old. I have long mousy brown hair, which sits in ringlets around my shoulders. My eyes are dark green and constantly filled with a hateful look from my past. I am fairly short and I am what the doctors call a late developer. I truly don’t understand why I have been placed on this earth so, if you are reading this it can only be for a bad reason. Since the day I was stranded I have been near-enough left for dead in a care home. I attend Green acre school in London. I am pretty much failing at school and most of teachers say that if I put the effort in I could be a very intelligent girl. I have nearly no friends other than one person who felt so close to me that I could barely spend a moment without them. Her name was Alexis and she was my best friend. She stood up for me when the bullying started and she somehow made everything bearable. She shared a room with me for eight years at the care home and then, a year ago, when we were out on a Saturday evening coming back from a roam of the shops and a meal at the local Chinese something happened…
We were approached by a group of people wearing dark clothes who attacked the both of us, and Alexis, being the stronger woman, stood forward to fight the gang leader. She was stabbed seven times in the front and twice in the back. I was stabbed once in the arm before I collapsed on the ground. I awoke when a lady shook my arm. “What’s happened?” she asked me once I was fully awake. “She was attacked.” I sobbed.
“My my, they’ve really gone to town ain’t they?” All I could reply was a faint nod before I remembered the wound in my arm. It wasn’t deep and I didn’t seem infected so I left it. I pulled my mobile out of my pocket but the lady shook her head. “Already called em’ they’ll be on their way.” Almost by magic the ambulance and police car came into view and we were taken into hospital.
Alexis died on the operating table that night. The doctors said that they did all they could and I wanted to scream at them and tell them that they obviously hadn’t done all that they could, but all I could do was sob into the wrist of my jacket...
