Sam’s Story

My name is Sam. The only thing I knew about my name was that it was a mistake. I was born into this world with everyone thinking I was a girl who would be called Samantha, but as it turns out, I’m not. My mom stuck with the name and just named me Sam instead. Which stands for Samantha. I hated my name.

Maybe I was a mistake in the first place. Everything about me could not be possibly more wrong.

If there was anyone that God hated besides the devil himself, I think it would have probably been me. If there even is a God. Well it doesn’t matter because I’d hate him too.

It wasn’t always like this though. I believed in God a very long time ago, before my mother ran away. She used to tuck me into bed when I was just a small little thing, and she’d tell me to say a bedtime prayer.

And I asked, tucked neatly into my Buzz-Lightyear blanket, “What should I pray about mommy?”

And she’d tell me softly in my ear as she knelt down beside me, “Anything, anything at all!”

And so I told God about how my best friend, (at that time in kindergarten) Daniel, kept stealing my Lego pieces and how I wanted God to punish him.

My mom only laughed. Now that I think of it, she never took bedtime prayers seriously, it was all just a matter of me telling her my day.

If she had though, maybe she would have prayed and God would have stopped her from running away. But she didn’t, and I hate him. I’d rather think he’s just another fairy tale that people believe in.

Not believing in stuff like this was probably the only thing me and my dad shared. After mom ran away, I thought he’d be a wreck, but he was completely fine, in fact, almost normal. Sometimes I don’t know which I’d rather he was. That was 5 years ago, and I’m turning 13 this year.

But normal for my dad isn’t really the normal you’d think dad’s would be. He was an alcoholic. I know, cliche as it is, I think that’s what you’d expect of parents like mine. A coward for a mom and a rotten drunk of a dad. I wonder how I’d turn out.

I’m laughing dryly in my head now as I write this. Just an old notebook, nothing special. Since I’ve got no one to really talk to, I thought I’d be the best person to have a good conversation with.

See, I don’t have a school. I’m what some people call… What’s that word again? A delinquent. I hope I spelled that right. I got kicked out last year. I never really liked school anyway, and they didn’t want me there too, I could tell. So we just had a “mutual agreement” of sorts to kick me out and be done with it. Okay that wasn’t what really happened.

I almost killed somebody.


His name was…Percy. Writing down his name makes me want to just tear this page off and burn it in hell. (If I could get there and I probably would if it existed)

Now don’t get me wrong I’m not a cold blooded killer. I had my own reasons. He was sick, real sick. Humiliation was his speciality. Oh and he had tons of servants always following him like pathetic wimpy dogs. I call them servants because I don’t think of them as friends. Or humans. I don’t care.

I had nothing to do with him. I kept mostly to myself in school. Except for this one girl, Lucy, who used to help my mom out with baby sitting. She’s 15 and a transfer kid. Apparently she never does well in any exams and gets retained all the time. Which was odd because she never did seem like a dumb person, to me at least.

So anyway this roach Percy comes to me one day while I’m minding my own damned business eating my own damned lunch when he sits down across me with a smirk on his face. A few of his disciples sniggered behind him, their faces all pimply and their hair cropped short and spikey just like his.

“Hey Sam,” the git says, leaning in towards me. He was on a roll that day. Already tormented three and now I was the fourth. I kept my eyes down on my triple ham sandwich. (which I made on my own)

” Talks going around that your momsy’s a, what’s that word again?” He mocks an inquiring look and scratched his head, “slut was it? Ran away with an old math teach who used to work here.”

I stopped chewing.

And he went on, “Man what a slut,” the prick says, pronouncing the ‘t’ harshly in a way that it was almost an attempted spit at me and my lovely sandwich. “Who knew? Heard it from that girl Lily, or was it Lucy? Man, I dunno, you’d think your mommy would have some decency, I’d be so ashamed if I were you, I wonder how you even go to this school without feeling the least bit-”

That was when I leapt onto him from my seat and came crashing down onto the floor as he slid off the bench and knocked his back against a table behind along with me. His disciples scattered and surrounded us as I punched him as hard as I could in the face. And again, and again, and again. Every hit made me feel glorious, angrier at the same time. To my horror I felt tears stream down my face, hot, angry tears. But besides anger I think there was pain too. Because I knew it was true. She left us, left me, for a rotten old man who teaches math. I hated math too.

I wanted to scream at him, yell out, “How dare you? How dare you?” But I couldn’t. I was shaking so badly with every punch, all I could do was to just keep hitting him until my knuckles burned red. I think felt something snap with one last swig of an arm. Something snapped inside of me too.

Because it wasn’t enough for me.

I saw something glitter beside me, a lone fork, slightly bent from having clattered off the table. I snatched it and stabbed percy in the mouth before I could stop myself, and he screamed. It wasn’t the kind of scream you’d hear from falling and scraping your knees, or getting hit with a cane. It was the real kind of scream, one of pure agony. It rang through the canteen, a dry kind of screech. And It rewarded me.

I stared at him, heaving, as he lay there with blood snaking down his chin in a menacing long line. Someone screamed behind me, and the voices got louder and louder. Something rang in my ear. I didn’t move, just sat there, on top of him. It was all a blur really. I felt someone yank me up, big strong arms, dragging me over to the far end of the canteen. Everyone stared at me, astounded, gasping, shaking, crying. I was a monster. I found it unfair. He was just as much a monster as I was. But I didn’t care. All I could do was stare blankly at percy, nothing else. My face was as dead as his.


Lucy calls every now and then. And i’ll slam the phone down as soon as I hear her voice.

“S-sam I-” That’s all I ever hear.

Home’s not much better than school is. Only plus side’s that I get to spend the mornings and afternoon’s alone. Having been on house arrest for three months, I think I got the hang of it. It’s paradise really. I get to sleep whenever I want, play games all the time, watch all the TV I can ever watch. Life’s pretty satisfactory, at least for me.

I admit I’ve turned into a downright lazy slob, but hey, It’s better than being a monster. I guess that’s why they decided to put me on house arrest.

Sometimes I dream of him, Percy. Percy Percy Percy. Why does he still haunt me even after I’ve finished with him? I see the blood, his face. I hear his scream echoing on and on. I twist and turn in bed, sweating, breathing so loudly I think the neighbours would hear me.

And then I’d see that glistening silver fork.

Some nights, I even scream. The scream that percy screamed. The exact one. My dad would barge into my room and smack me in the face to wake me up. That is, if he was home that night. I hated it when he did that. I could smell the foul whiskey off his body. But then I was also glad he woke me up.

Other nights, I’d lie awake, on my back, staring at the ceiling. I’d see the shadows the car lights made on the ceiling as they passed by my window. I’d see the fuzzy black purple and green dots whizzing around in the dark. And I’d also see my mom stepping out the door. I never actually saw her leave. But I always liked to imagine how she did it. Some nights she’d leave with a last, sorry glance behind her back. Some nights she’d run out the door crying. She would never look happy in what I saw, and that comforted me before I finally fell asleep.


Life lost it’s meaning after a while. This was how I knew I had to be a mistake. There was nothing in it for me. It was all a mistake, just like my name. I wondered if things would have been different if I’d been born as Samantha instead.

One day, I crept over to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. I knew there had to be some of the stuff in there. And there they were, packs and packs of them. Cans of beer. On TV, these things were the miracle bombs. Lets people forget things, you know? Lets people feel lighter. Happier. Burdenless. People always seemed to have so much more fun with the stuff. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe I finally understood why my dad has to have the stuff all the time. The reason why he’s still so sane after all that’s happened. I wanted to be sane too.

That afternoon was the best that I’ve had in years. Suddenly the world didn’t seem so bad anymore. I was smiling, actually smiling. For real! I couldn’t remember most of it. It was so light, so free, I felt like disco dancing in the middle of the living room. I felt like flying off the couch. For once in so many long miserable years, I felt nothing. I was free. But it faded a little after a while, and then the world started spinning, getting heavier, so I gulped down more and more until it went away and the lightness came back.

Who was I again? Samantha, oh yes, lovely Samantha. I had lovely brown locks that fell into curves on my shoulders. A sharp chin, big eyes. I wanted to kiss her. Where was Samantha?

“Samantha! Where the hell are you?” I scream. Oh no, here comes Sam. I see him. Sam. Sam is coming back again. Make him disappear, Sam, make him disappear! More gulps, more dancing, more jumping on the couch. And I crashed onto the couch and slept.


Something hard and cold hit me on the forehead, before rolling off the couch and landing on the floor with a loud metallic clang.

“Four. Damn it Sam!” He spat, “Damn you. Four bloody cans in an afternoon.” He grabs my shirt and I groggily open my eyes to see his filthy face up close in front of me. For the first time I take a good look at him. He had more wrinkles than I last remembered. Scruff on his chin. Eye bags that sunk so low it made his face look hollow. My head starts throbbing and spinning and I fall asleep again, limp in his harsh hands.

“Get up. GET UP!” he yanks me off the couch and slams me onto the floor. I smell the stuff off him too. Now we both had two things in common.

“Now get out of my house, useless piece of shit.” He spat at me. I felt that monster again, clawing at my heart, and I breathed in and out to keep it down. He slumps away, like a zombie, and I hear him muttering about four cans. Damned four cans. Worth more than a son. Who am I kidding, I’m not worth anything.

So I get out, and slammed the door behind me. The air outside is cold, and my heavy breaths came out in wispy streams of curling smoke. It was night already, the street lamps dimly lit the road in an eerie orange.

Percy. A fork. Blood.

That was all I could think of. I hated this house. I hated my dad. I hated the alcohol. I hated the cold. Everything. And Percy.

I staggered over to a trash can nearby, rummaged it, and found a glass bottle. This would do nicely. Better broken. I reached down into it, and struggled to get a grip on it with my frozen fingers.

“S-sam.” I hear a voice behind me. I felt like slamming down a phone all of a sudden. “What are you doing, Sam?”

I didn’t turn. I kept swinging my hand for the bottle buried deep inside.

“Sam, look at me.”

I stopped moving. Felt it all come back again. Who knew? Heard it from that girl Lily, or was it Lucy? It rang in my mind, I felt the clawing in my heart again.

I gripped the trash can and slammed it down onto the ground, screaming. Something shattered inside.

I swung around.

“What, What do you want from me?” I said in a low, bitter voice, looking at her through the slits of my eyes.

“I want to tell you things, Sam,” She said, stepping forward slowly, her eyes cautious, her voice rang like that of a singer. She paused, tucking her long hair behind her ear.

I laughed. “Tell me what? Tell me things like how you told the shit hole about my mom?”

She frowned, and slowly shook her head, “No, that wasn’t what happened. Oh Sam, you know I’d never do a thing like that to you! I was praying out loud, I talked about you, and Percy heard me! I didn’t know he could see me! I thought… Well I must have slipped but-”

“Look I’ve heard enough, leave me alone before I kill you too.”

I glared at her icily before stomping away. It wasn’t true. I didn’t want to kill her. She was there for me when I needed her. She’d always listen, her advice was good. Sometimes, I catch her looking at me, and I always got the feeling that she was watching over me. Funny how she had no friends either. Like me. In fact, no one notices her at all. They just past by her like an outcast. I always thought it had something to do with everyone thinking she was dumb. I marched on, nevertheless.

“Sam,” I hear her call out, “I’m an Angel sent by God.”

She’s a what? I scrunch up my face and turn around, and my eyes falter for a second.

I don’t know what I saw. It was light. but not the same from the kind you’d see in street lamps. It came from her, a glorious radiance, entrancing me. It was peaceful, kind and good. Most of all warm.

Then it went away in an instant and I blinked.

“So now you’re delusional too, way to go Lucy, way to go. What a pair we make huh?” I say as I walk back to her. ” A monster and a psycho.”

“God loves you Sam,” She goes on, “I’ve watched over you, listened, helped, and loved you because of it.”

I stare incredulously at her, “What are you, some sort of a pastor now? a priest?”

She smiled and shook her head slowly again, “I told you Sam, I’m an angel.” She nods, her eyes sparkling.

“Well,” I fold my arms, “If you’re the bloody angel you are then why didn’t you stop Percy from talking to me? Why didn’t this God of yours stop my mom from running away?” I was starting to yell at her now, jabbing my finger up to the dark sky.

“God loves me? Hah! Don’t you see Lucy, God hates me! Why didn’t he give me someone better for a father? Why did he leave me all alone? All these years?” I felt the tears again. My face contorted into an angry mess.

“You’ve never been alone, Sam. God hears you, and he’s always with you! You just don’t see him! You’re too blinded by hate Sam, filled to the brim with it! Oh Sam,” She steps closer towards me, “You have so, so much hate in you, it’s killing you inside. Hurting people in revenge will never give you peace! You hurt yourself too, every punch, every stab,” She glances at the bin, “Every glass bottle to the head of a sleeping man.”

I fell to my knees. I really am a monster.

“Your life was a decision that your parents made. They have their own will, their own ways. God cannot make them choose to be what he’d want them to be Sam. But though you can’t choose the life you will lead,” She bends down on the ground with me and tells me, “You can choose what you want to be.”

“I don’t want to be a monster,” I whispered softly.

“And that choice will always be yours. Now give God your pain, your hate, your anger. Do you remember Sam how you used to say your bedtime prayers? Now tell him for real, what you really feel.”

Percy. Oh Percy. And blood. I had wanted to kill him, silence his mouth forever. I screamed, the real kind of scream. I was so angry at my mom. Why did she leave me? Did I mean nothing? Was I really worth less than four cans of beer?

Lucy wrapped me in her arms as I screamed like a baby.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him Lucy,” I sobbed, “I’m scared. I dream of it every night Lucy. I’m a monster, I can’t ever change what I’ve done! What’s the use?” For the first time I felt another kind of pain inside of me. It consumed me even more than my anger did. It was guilt.

“You can’t change the past, and God knows what you’ve done and why you did it,” Lucy pats my back softly, “But he forgives you still, all you have left is to forgive yourself. This truth will set you free.”

I cried even more, more than I’ve ever had.

“Oh Sam, if only you could see how much you mean to Him, God wants you to see his love! Nothing can seperate you from his love Sam, not any man, not any devil, or anything of this world, not even you. What you’ve done, it doesn’t matter because he loves you for you, Sam, not Sam the monster, or Sam the anything!He will stay with you no matter what, all you have to do is to just let him!”


That was the last I saw of Lucy. I fell asleep in her arms, and woke up to a warm morning in my bed neatly tucked into my buzz-Lightyear blanket.
I got up, rubbed my eyes, knelt down onto the floor and prayed.


Dear God,
If you’re listening. I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that, I’m really… really sorry for what I did. Thank you for sending me Lucy. I don’t know if it was a dream, it sure felt like one. As I slept in her arms I felt peace for the first time. Not lightness or anything close to the cans of beer. Real, true peace. That was when I knew you must have been real. I never thought I could have ever felt something like that. I’m sorry I said I hated you before. Lucy was right, I never saw how much I hated.

I still wonder how you’d want to bother with sending someone like me an angel. I guess I can never really understand. You’re crazy you know!

Then again I had thought Lucy was crazy too.

I know my father is hurting just as much as I have. I think I’ve got a lot more in common with him than I thought. I acted exactly like he did. I don’t want him to end up being a monster too, hey, guy deserves a chance doesn’t he? You gave me a chance I didn’t deserve. I shouldn’t keep it all to myself.

God, I hope you’re still listening.

I don’t want to be a monster anymore. I just want to be Sam, not Samantha, but Sam. Lucy once told me Sam stood for Samson, who was far from a monster.

I’m starting to like my name a little more now.


Hi, this is Rachel, I’m back, well, it’s been a really long time since I’ve written a whole story. It’s not the kind of story that I’d usually write. I always write in third person, I’d love focusing on the world that I could create. This time, the character was what I focused on the most. I spent the whole night writing this, I really just couldn’t stop. For a night, I had to be Sam, talk like how Sam would talk (in my head of course I’m not going around saying shit hole all over the place._.)

I really enjoyed writing this, learned a few things too. I guess I’ll start writing more short stories!

I love how God speaks to me most when I’m writing.

I really hope God spoke to you through it too.


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