I sped through the snow-covered streets on my bike, the sound of the wheels spinning incredibly fast cutting through the dark atmosphere of the town. Everybody mocked me for being weak. My friends would act so shocked when I told him I haven't even broken a bone; they made it look as if breaking a bone was a damn achievement.

Speeding obviously didn't work on me. I fell off not long after, tumbling into a bush of spikes. Blood started to drip down my forehead, passing the corner of my eye and onto the snow beneath me. Good, I thought. Instead of trying to stop the bleeding, I wished my injury was bigger, almost as if I was actually trying to brag it back to my lousy friends.

Once I got back on the bike again, I felt something was off. It made a huge noise of metal clinking. I tried to find the problem, but I couldn't. My mood worsened.

My father had left after remarrying, leaving me with a stranger lady and three of her daughters. Although he comes around once in a while, he'd simply mock me for being a failure. I knew I was one too, perhaps because he never even taught me how to fix a bike.