The true story of a boy who endures abuse and neglect and grows up to be a staunch atheist until he encounters Christians who change everything.

“It’s fun to hit me. I know this by popular opinion.

            I’ve learned that fear is the worst part of it. The adrenaline from running away is painful, especially if you get caught, so I’ve stopped running. I just let it happen.

             Being punched in the face is not nearly as painful as you might think, and they mostly hit me in the arm anyway. I got bruises at first, but my body got used to it. You can get used to pretty much anything if it just keeps happening.

            But I don’t like it when they kick me in the shin because then I have to wear pants all the time to hide the raw skin and the bleeding. That’s uncomfortable in the summer.

            I also don’t like being stabbed with things, like pencils and pens. Being stabbed is a worse kind of pain than being hit.

            And I don’t like when they take my food. I try to eat it in secret by hiding it in my pockets and eating slowly, but that usually doesn’t work for long.

            I’ve tried hiding, but the school is small, and there aren’t that many hiding places.

            I briefly thought of telling my parents, but they’ve never helped me before. I know this time wouldn’t be any different. I did try telling teachers. I tried several times. They never helped for long.

            I fought back once. Someone threw my backpack in the mud. I got very mad. I grabbed him, pulled him to the ground, and started dragging him toward some nearby mud. Just as I got him within an inch of it, I suddenly felt bad and stopped. Then a teacher showed up and gave us both detention.

            So I give up. It’s not that bad most of the time. I’m used to it.”