[Okay you all, yes, I have come up with a new story! Don't worry I'm writing the prologues for iNeed You Now More Than Ever and I'm still working on I'm Not The One. Anyway, This is kind of like a fun, side story for me to work on. I'm going to try to update once a week but… I make no promises. Anyway, enjoy! Make a great day, - Ariel]
Prologue
Okay, let's get one thing straight right now: This is not a diary. This is just a stupid book my 'therapist' is making me right in. She said some crap like 'maybe you won't be so angry' and 'it's good to let your feelings and emotions out somehow' and all kinds of crap like this.
I mean, I don't even know why I need a therapist. Just cuz I broke this kids leg cuz he pissed me off, doesn't mean I have 'anger issues'. What's up with therapists anyway? They just make you sit in a room that smells like Cheez-It's and lay down in couch chairs and stare up at ugly ceilings while you 'talk about your feelings'.
Therapists are no good. Look at the word! The-ra-pist. It's like, The-rapist. OHMYGOSH! See that! Therapists are just rapists trying to learn all of your secrets so they can get you alone, and rape you,
Sam Puckett, 1. The rest of the idiotic world, 0.
Everyone says that soon enough I'll 'open up' to my the-rapist. But I doubt it. Her name is Elena Findergale. Heh, Findergale. The first time I met her I almost died laughing when she introduced herself.
She wears those lady suit things and she always smells like watermelon. I like melon as much as the next girl, but having to sit in a room with it all day and not being able to eat any, can drive a girl crazy.
EW, not that I would ever touch her. Sometimes, she tries to shake my hand or pat my shoulder and other stuff but I give her a death glare and she backs off.
Anyway, I smell ham. Which means Carly's probably done cookin Mama's food. My mouth is watering already.
So, see ya.
-Sam