The white puffs of mist that escaped from my thin lips indicated how cold and unforgiving the freezing night was. The cold's wintry hands and dry tongue wrapped me in their essence, deadly grips as they licked every inch of warmth from my insides. Despite the five layers of clothing and fur boots I was wearing, my teeth were chattering incessantly and my fingers were so numb they might as well have been nonexistent. My lips were chapped, matching my burning throat that felt like it would shatter into a million pieces from the frostbite. As I struggled against Fate's cruel attempt to rob me of my conscience, flashbacks of events I would rather forget invaded my mind: misdeeds I had mourned much over the time I had lived on this unforgiving Earth. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay The year my family crumbled and was burned to ashes: a year that arrived like all the others. I think my siblings and I always knew something was wrong, but we chose to ignore the fact that our parents argued endlessly about small, meaningless things that they should work out together: their children's attitudes, our financial situation. My father had just lost his job along with his pride as a proud businessman in a company he had worked for for 15 years. He began to shirk his responsibilities as a father, choosing to go out on happy trips with his friends rather than be there for his spouse and children in our times of desperate need. I had never been a very rough person, but I couldn't take it anymore. Openly admitting to my so-called "father" that I absolutely despised him, that was the first and only time he raised his hand against me. Then remorse and guilt were completely out of the equation. I became more problematic and made trouble with stupid shenanigans just to pour a little more oil into the raging fire. My mother was blamed for my transformation into a boorish individual as everyone ignored the fact that I was a teenager with raging hormones that would put a sandstorm to shame. I could hear her sobbing frantically every night behind closed doors, and that was the first time I realized that sorry seems to be the hardest word to say. The moment I released the photo of my dear best friend and her equally warm lover. I was sure that somewhere in my cold, dead heart there was a little flash of angst for the boy-and-boyfriend pairing, but it never showed up in my emotions. There was nothing strange about being in love, but I saw red at the thought of someone I loved having something I couldn't. Our coalition had been destroyed along with his report. I had ruined the life of my dear accomplice, the one who had maintained my abominable attitude for years; just because I felt homophobic for a day. People started mistreating him. I was one of them. I didn't hate him. I felt nothing towards him one way or the other. For me it was a tool to vent my frustrations, have fun and feel superior. When I teased him I got a surge of power that I couldn't get any other way. I really believed it was just nature: the strong against the weak, and if there is still a jungle somewhere in this concrete hell, it was the schoolyard. But every time he looked at me with those beautiful orbs stained with a disappointed glint, I could feel a piece of my heart withering. I was a coward with a world of.