Did people really feel immense pleasure from someone else's misery? Honestly, I wish this wasn't true. However, my whole life seems to be saying that the opening statement is, in fact, correct.

For years, people have looked down on me. They seem to enjoy delivering blow after blow and watching me as I cower in fear, tears blurring my vision. Whether it is physically, emotionally, socially or mentally- they seemed to enjoy breaking me. Tearing my heart into pieces before tearing those pieces apart. As if it's some kind of game.

I have been the victim of these games since I was three years old. To be honest, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't adapted to it. I had learnt strategies for when they gave me their daily beatings. For example; I had to show no signs of fight, I had to show no signs of fear, I had to show no signs of misery, I just had to be a void of emotion.

Hopefully they would get bored after five minutes. If they kept on hitting me after that, I just had to accept it. I'd already learnt not to fight back. Whenever that happened, I was the antagonist, the villain, the cold-blooded murderer who must repent for his sins. Nothing came out of that except for greater pain.

The only thing that saves me is my mask. The goofy ramen-loving kid that dreams of becoming Hokage. However, my worst fear is that someone will see past it, and discover the emptiness within me.

*Author's Note*: Sorry about the picture, it's not very good since I drew it myself (I mean, you probably shouldn't have had high expectations when you saw that it said the pictures were by me).