Capítulo 1: Chapter 1 - My Sad Life
TRIGGER WARNING: The following story includes traumatic experiences, troubled family relationships and my sick dark thoughts. Read at your own risk!
If you are reading this, you have probably ignored my warning.
My name is Kaithleen Darko and I'm 14 years old. When night falls, I philosophize about the worthlessness of life and the horrifying reality of this world. Sometimes, I don't look left and right before crossing the road and dream of the day I get run over.
I often fall in love with fictional boys, watch manga, read anime (duh) and my dream is to die of a heart attack.
I hate, HATE girls who defile their faces with hundred layers of make-up. They always want to pimp themselves up like a Barbie doll when in reality they look about as good as Donatella Versace after her thirtieth plastic surgery.
And flashy girly pink. When I see this color, I get irrationally irritated. It's the most monotonous, ugliest color.
I love deep, deep black. It mirrors my mind perfectly - dark and empty. The darkness knows me as good as no other. Sometimes I think that I'm cursed and the gods gave me a special flaw at birth.
Perhaps I am too profound, too intellectual to communicate with people less gifted than me. Maybe, because I am too smart, nobody can reach my true feelings. I don't know.
I don't look left and right as always when I cross the street. I hear cars honking, imbecilic humans. You are fools!!!!111!!!
The school seems so gray and bleak as ever, a place, a jail. Not a place where anyone could understand me. I am, as always, a loner in this world. It seems like this would never change.
I see bored faces and immediately sense the urge to cry for help because I feel caged and no one notices my anguish. I really want to get out of here before I go down under this boredom. Helppp!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Julius Plato S. my savior1111!!! Deliver me from this place!!!11!!
The other students don't know anything about us, not even you. Idiots. I take out my phone and the picture of a full-bearded man greets me. Julius Plato S., my teacher. The only reason why I still chill with those ugly students.
"Hey, bro. Do yo have sum fire?"
"Quiet! My heart already belongs to another one!1!", I shout filled with rage, "YEETUS THAT FEETUS!!!11!!"
"Bro, whatcha have on yo phone." Manuel ogles MY Julius Plato S. Outraged, I yeet my phone into his cake hole.
"Woooah bra, that hit like Boomer's fat burritos.", he says staring uglily and absent-mindedly at the ceiling.
"Helppp, I am being hit on!11!!1!" I punch him again.
There he is! My rescue! Julius Plato S. runs towards me.
"What are you for a cruel human being! One does not hurt innocents, Kaithleen!"
"No. This face was in need of a fist like mine for he had tainted your honor! I had no other choice."
I pick up my phone and show him the picture.
He replies with a sigh.
"Kaithleen, I am happily married, have ten kids, seven of them are over thirty, my son is in college, I am fifty years old and besides, I only like ripe 80-years old women."
"Then I'll wait till I'm 80 and marry you at the funeral."
It was too much. Manuel's advances, Julius Plato S.'s preference for 80-year olds. I broke down.
I sit on the ground and cry bitter tears. Why? Why?! I run away, no one follows me - idiots! I run across the road again without looking left or right and sadly don't get run over. Misfortune is following me.
My room is empty and cold. A Nirvana poster is hanging on the wall and on the other is XXXTentacion's.
I turn up the music so loud until it feels like my feelings are suffocated.
"Wake me up! Wake me up inside!"
My mother tears the door open. She, too, doesn't understand me. No one does. "TURN DOWN THE MUSIC!!11!"
Her grunts are like that of a pig's.
"Mom, please, at least try to understand my sorrow!"
A deluge of tears flood from my eyes. I decided to write a list of things that I hate.
My pen squeaks while I write.
Things I hate:
• My Mother
• Me :(
• Julius Plato S.'s wife
• Dumb People
• All People
• Julius Plato S.'s sons
• Cougars (Over 80)
• Being happy. This is impossible.
• Babys. They don't cry enough.
• Manuel. He hit on me.
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