Kedington Military Academy

Glancing down past my dangling feet, I can see the tiny blobs of black that represent the many other freedom starved cadets like myself. My line of sight leads me three floors below, straight into your perfect little office where you are seated. It is time that you really understood the pain and suffering you put us through every single day.

There is not one day that passes without a cold hearted officer forcing me out of my comfort zone and into the shadows of despair. I do not want to be here, it is not part of my wishes to attend this academy. I do not want to be pushed beyond my physical and mental limits, nor endure every second word being yelled at me or to watch my freedom being ripped from my heart and torn into shreds. Where is the opportunity to just to be who I want to be? For the past 9 years you have simply sat there, without a care in the world, and ordered that I give you my best. Do you honestly believe that I can achieve anything through this senseless torture? Or do you just enjoy watching me go through this pain, as you break me down and build me up into the perfect minion?

To be fair, my mother hasn’t exactly been the best for support either. Her military background has only led to her forceful opinions on what I should aspire to be. At home I have never received any positive attention and not once has anyone expressed an interest in my well being. It is as if I am just another addition to a collection of badges, though I’m sure they would mean much more than I ever could. My mother’s reaction when I even dared mention my passion for the arts was just short of a historical event. In return for my honesty, I witnessed all of my beloved art supplies discarded callously - the exact same reaction I received from the instructors at your academy, under your ruling.

For me, art is an escape. It’s a place where I can express my emotions, thoughts and feelings without judgement. Without art, these last 9 years would have been unbearable. Yet now, my worst nightmare is happening. By eliminating all forms of art from Kedington Military Academy, you are creating a place of despair and anger, of rules, strict schedules and meticulousness.

It is with this recent proposal of yours that I have made my decision. You have driven me beyond despair; I no longer have a reason to live. I cannot return to you, either at home or at the academy. After reading this, I hope you have finally understood to some extent what it is like to live under your command, and the hopelessness that I as a cadet feel. By the time this has reached you, I will have jumped. And there is nothing you can do to stop me. Goodbye father.
Cadet Jordan Keats

FOLLOW US was established in 1997, and since then we have successfully completed numerous short story and poetry competitions and publications.
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