My parents always told me I'd never amount to anything. Every D I brought home on my report card as a kid seemed evident of that. No amount of whipping me or yelling ever seemed to change that.

I flunked out of highschool my sophomore year, taking to the streets, getting into drugs. At twenty-one, I figured my life was about over. I'd die of an overdose or get mugged in some back alleyway.

Then my golden opportunity came. I was homeless then, looking through dumpsters for my next meal. On that night I picked the right dumpster, the one behind Albert's Pizzeria. Albert found me, offering me a job and a place to stay.

He helped me get off drugs and get my GED. I continued working for him, delivering pizza's on the blue moped we found and fixed up. I was going to college, taking some classes to become a lawyer. It had always been my dream.

Everything seemed to be going right for me for once. My life was back on track and all was well. I finally realized that perhaps Happy Valley really could be a happy place.

But I couldn't have been more wrong. I should have known that things never get better. They seem to only continually get worse.