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Q: What do you guys think of my story so far?
Its about a boy with asperges syndrome, and this is just the begining.

I am special or so they say, and right now I don’t feel very special. My hands are frail, my bruises obscure most of my body and my shoulder length hair is tangled and is mixed with mud and sand. I thought by running away, my troubles would run in the opposite direction. I thought if I ran away from those who hurt me; my pain would pursue my troubles. Yet as I lie here now I reflect on who did this to me and what pain are they trying to cause me. What have I done wrong? I wonder, why bloodshed and tears were brought here, and I understand my place in society. I can know see that war is not all fun and games and when a real AK 47assault rifle is at your head, you aren’t fascinated by the 7.62.39mm or the 710 muzzle velocity, you pray to God to save your life.
I never thought much about God, my foster parents weren’t very religious or cared about anything except the pub. I used to sit and watch the people file in and out of church on a Sunday whilst my parents were having a Sunday Lunch at the pub. I was too scared to talk to anybody and ask them questions. I would just think of machine guns, aeroplanes and bombs and war. Though no one has educated me in this particular topic, I know everything there is to know about it, it is as if my head runs on a unique operating system. When people stared at me hiding in the bushes overlooking the church they would just shake their head and continue on their way. I wouldn’t mind their curiosity in me, but I would wonder why they shook their head, don’t they know about my situation. I sometimes pretend to be a soldier hiding in the depths of undergrowth reporting on the target’s suspected location, it’s the only escape I get to a world where I feel comfortable. I can be myself and live life at my own pace, I don’t have special teachers with me and people bullying me due to my personality. Usually parents are there to support you when you are in such a situation. But my parents or my foster parents should I say, do quite the opposite.
My foster parents are called Bob and Judy; they adopted me when I was four years old. Since then my life has been living hell. From as far as I can remember I was their human punch bag. Any frustration would end up on my body, soon I wasn’t allowed to school because I could hardly walk. I am a boy who deserves more than what I am given. I cry myself to sleep every night; I would soothe my own wounds. I would try and hide from these monsters. When I walk to school I am conscious of someone finding out and teasing me. I am bullied at school and during PE I am embarrassed. I have to talk to these special teachers, I feel slightly isolated. I seem to have people say to me that I am useless, and this seems to pierce several holes in my heart. My foster parents only began to treat me badly when I was taken to the doctors and they said that I had a disease of some sort. I wouldn’t know because I am stupid.
Since that day I have had the hell which led me to utter frustration. I feel like killing myself. I want a life that isn’t mine. My tears are nothing they are my only sense of comfort; the tears are the only sign of norm inside me. It is the only thing that bothers to come to me frequently, my life is a never ending disaster. That was when I turned fourteen, when I came to high school I thought that it would be better than usual. Every night I would come home and be expected to make my own dinner. The house would be empty, this was the only time I would be free from harm. At eight pm my parents would come home and argue, scream, fight, and then they would engross and I would hear strange noises. They would come upstairs together, flustered. They would enter my room and beat me. I was helpless and had no form of defence and I had no intention of defending myself.
On the 10th of August 2010, I decided I was going to escape and go to an environment where I feel comfortable. Every day since 10/08/10, I began to steal a few pounds from the safe and each day I began to see more money in there. Whatever my parents did for a living was earning them cash, I wondered how they got so much cash at once. Anyway I would divert myself from the sugar and the other plants in the safe because they looked sinister locked up in a safe. On the 20th of September I had around £200. I packed my things that I wanted in a suitcase and left. I took many buses and felt free. At around 10’Oclock I was in a cafe overlooking the pub where the beasts lay. They came out late today. I felt like taking a sniper rifle out and sniping both of them. That is when it hit me, the location that I should go to. Funny isn’t it the phrase ‘then it hit me’, because Northwood HQ didn’t just come out and thump me. That was Bob and Judy’s job. My travel there was laborious, and I was soon very tired. I fell asleep on the bus when the driver shook me and told me this is where the stop ended. I looked out I was in Ox

A: Where were the verbs in this story? It was pretty good but after
This part you need to make your char actually do something.
You need a story plot. But all in all it seems okay
.

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