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"They trespassed upon my thoughts. They were intruders whose knowledge of life was to me an irritating pretense, because I felt so sure they could not possibly know the things I knew. Their bearing, which was simply the bearing of commonplace individuals going about their business in the assurance of perfect safety, was offensive to me like the outrageous flauntings of folly in the face of a danger it is unable to comprehend. I had no particular desire to enlighten them, but I had some difficulty in restraining myself from laughing in their faces, so full of stupid importance."
"Sometimes loneliness is the only comfort you can have."
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Life is hell. Literally. "Hell, noun. A realm of evil and suffering." That's my life. Stuck in this stupid house with my bitch of a stepmother, Merleen. Mereen wears overpriced clothes and about fifty pounds of makeup. Both the clothes and the makeup make her look fatter than she already is, and that's probably the most impressive achievement of her whole life, besides the amount of gullible losers she's scammed. See, my stepmother likes three things: Dating rich old men, buying shit with the money she gets from her rich old men, and telling me to cheer up and stop looking so sulky. "Look on the bright side." Well, I hate when people say that. It's like she personally can't stand my existence or something.
That's the evil, and trust me, the house is definitely Mereen's realm. After like fifty remodels it's completely encursted in pink wallpaper and designer furniture. But where's the suffering, you might ask? Don't bother, because, believe me, there's more than enough to go around, every, single, day, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after fucking year. While stepmother spends the big bucks on shopping trips and fancy European chocolate, Every day I go to sleep (usually insanely late because I have severe and chronic insomnia), wake up, sit in my shitty bed stuck in the corner of my room (which is the only space in the house I can even stand since I put up a lot of evenascence posters and sharpied the ceiling black) and try to pretend I'm dead. That sounds wierd to ost normies, I know. It's not because I'm suicidal, althoughough my many ex-therapists would tell you otherise. No. The real reason I pretend I'm dead. Is that when life is hell, heaven suddenly seems a whole lot more attractive. If there is an afterlife, I want there A.S.A.P. It'd be the perfect fresh start, the ultimate do-over, the glow-up my empty soul needs. Still think it's wierd? Fuck you. Yeah, I cuss, you better get used to it.
I'm sit in my bed right now, thinking about all the ways I could die suddenly, imagining whether that the heaven would look like. Then a clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp at the door, followed by a shrill screech. "Get up you little bitch!" screamed Melreen through my door, which was the only nice part of my room according to her and the only part that didn't look liek and I quote Like a satanist ritual-site."
I groaned, crawled out of bed, and waited until my stepmother vacated the hallway to enter it and then walk to and enter the bathroom. I cleaned myself up half-heartedly before looking in the mirror. I was average height, average build. My face was painfully average too, only like 6/10, although I did have naturally nice skin, pale and pretty smooth. I was slim but not slender, and overall average. The only things that I liked about myself was my raven-dark hair and my star-bright amythystean eyes. My name is Chlyce Esastella, and this shit is my life.
*
You're still here? Really? I guess that I thought no one would...bother. Well, let me tell you something. You're in for a wild ride.
Squat gray walls, gray pavement by gray assfault on one side and gray grass on the other. Gray gravel and an off-blue sign reading "Wallvale High". It's actually more of a blue-grey. And if you thought the outside looked boring, the inside is even worse. Gray tiles and gray lockers. The ony change is that sometimes there'll be a ugly gaudy stupid swatche o color so annoyingly vibrant you'd think the place was a pride parade. After home room I have math, social studies, english, lunch, break, history, geometry, and drama and they're all in that order. Of course school had to pick all my least favorite subjects (although I do like drama, but not when everyone else sucks fat ass at it and ruins my performance). THe only thing worse than having to learn math is having to share air with teacher's pet math nerds ass-kissers. I mean, math is literally so easy, but also literally so boring I want to die even more than I usually do. Especilly when the teacher's pet math nerd asskissers ask you out, like Chad Eric-Hower asked me out last week (even though I literally never talked to him ever). Ewww. It's not anything I have against him, it's just that it's such a dweeb move. Plus, he has buck teeth and a 3/10 body. I hope he finds someone for him though. Like one of those giggly 1/10 girls that call me dumb nicknames. Like, I'm not goth, goth people are so cringe! I'm just tortured. Then again, people at this school are so stupid that I wouldn't be surprised if they thought that everyone who likes dark fashion is goth.
So today I was sitting in math class, bored as a mining shaft, doodling on my open notebook, listening half-attentively to the teacher drone on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on... Suddenly a new kid walks in. Don't ask how I know, because I just know, just like I know a lot of things other people don't know. The teacher, Miss Prizzle (Miss Prizzle was short, slightly hunched, and always wore long tattered nail extensions. On her head she wore an old battered felt hat with a fake ruffled pink feather set in the rim {It's literally so cringe when old people try to look cool}, a pair of big thick prescription glasses resting on her ugly big bulbous nose, a cheap neckalce of fake plastic pearls, and a tight elastic dress——olive-green with jet-black trimming——that was somehow still loose on her bony body. Over that she wore a short French coat {again, so cringe}. She also wore stockings that looked like maybe they were silk, but really they were probably just polyester, and a pair of short shiny heels, probably about 50 centimeters. She was white, but her parents were Italian immigrants so it hardly counts), was straining her ferret-squeel voice: "Class, give me your attention please. Yes. THis is our new sudent, Joshery Cristo. Please welcome him warmly! (there was clapping then) Yes." There was clapping all around, and immediately I noticed that most of the energy was coming from the girls. I looked up for the first time. Luscious curls framing a dreamy face that was handsome yet boyish, set with two brilliant blue eyes that pierced my soul with their shear beauty. He had a sort of ethereal glow about him, and the longer I stared the stronger it got. I hate to admit this, but it was so dreamy I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't asleep. His body was great too. "Hi, I'm Joshery. So, nice weather, right?" Joshery walked leanly over to his desk, and holy shit it was right next to mine. Now he was talking to me! His blue eyes sparkled like diamonds, and I knew he was joking. Funny guys aren't really my type, but I could make an exception. I mean, he literally looked like a hotter younger versin of Justin Timberlake, only with longer curlier hair and stuff like I said. "Uh...right. I mean, yeah. It's great." That wasn't true. It was sunny out, and I hate the sun. I usually don't lie, but, like I said, this was definitely an exception. "I love sunny days, man. They totally turn a bad day around, just like that." He snapped his lean, flawless fingers. "What about you? You like sunny days?" I swallowed my tongue. "Um, yes, I totally love the sun. Totally." Joshery frowned tenderly, leaning a little closer. "I don't think you do. I think that you that you think that the sun is lame. Light can be great, but sometimes it reveals things that aren't cool. Things we wish were different." He lightly stroked his shaved chin slightly. I'm way smarter than any of the other retards at Wayvale, but even I was impressed with that. And before I know it, words are tumbling out of my mouth: "Wow, you're like a guru or something. But you don't look like a guru, I didn't mean that. Unless a guru was really cute." OMG! Did I just say that out loud? I could literally kill myself out of embaressment. Joshery laughed again, chuckling. "Nah sister, I'm no guru. I just share the wisdom I have." His beautiful face darkened. Not in a literal way, because he still looked like an angelic hair model, but because he was being serious. "Well, it looks like we won't have sun for much longer anyway," He told me quietly, looking out the classroom window intently. "And that's 'cause a storm is coming, in more ways than one or even two," he said mutely. I giggled a little (but not in a stupid way like the hallway girls, more in a kind of self-aware and flirty way) but he just shook his head harder, reminding me of a more dreamy Justin Timberlake just if he were blonde and taller and had curly hair. "Seriousely, listen to me, Chylce. Hard. Be careful, and beware the dark one."
*
That night I walked home, like usual, at sunset, like usual. In Drearwood, California. Suzie Beckham back home always tells me I'm lucky to live here, so close to Hollywood and Beverly Hills and Long Beach and a million other objects of envy. The truth is, living here isn't all its cracked up to be, trust me. Especially when you live my life in this city. Dearwood is boring. From one cokie-cutter neighborhood to the next, it's all the same: Scrubbed driveways, two-story houses (or, as I like to call them, hellholes) painted some generic normie color, decorated with imitation grass and little fences. It's worse because the few things that are cool, like the malls, downtown, and most of all Lost Beach, are all always kept out my reach by my stepmother. Instead of that fun shit I'm stuck doing chores and listening to Marlene bitch about her day and whine about how sad I look. All that I was used to, so, so, so, zo, so so used to. But this time there was something new, different. I couldn't describe it, but it feels like there's something new in the air. On the horizon I could see dark clouds gathering the way old men gather around a grill full of not-yet-barbaque.At home I endured another one of Mareen's chewing-outs, then ran upstairs to my room. "Ahhhh...darkness," I said, and I meant it. Quickly I changed into my nighttime outfit: Loose full-length pants (jet black) topped with a Valentino long-sleeve with thumbholes (coal black/gray with rips and tears) and a pair of Dock Martin slippers (black 1-inch soles, purple ankle-high uppers and black laces that were extra long so I could tie them into a rose knot). I put my hair into a half-bun (with bangs) and switch to night-time makeup: Dual layers of skin moisterizer accented with touches of dark eyeliner and semi-tinted lipstick that had a spiral design so that when I rolled it across my lips they looked like they were bleeding. Then I collapsed onto my bed and sat there, stewing in my misery and depression. Although, and I would be lying if I didn't say this, this time there was something else too. Josbery. Sure that whole thing about "the dark one" was wierd, but I hadn't felt creeped out at the time. He had seemed like he was genuenely trying to warn me about something. Plus, he was hot. That memory shone like a light in my darkness, and I find myself wondering what could happen tomorrow. Well, time to sleep, I tell myself, and I do.
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